


Depths of Depravity

by Jathis, Safetypants (Dangersocks)



Series: Dirty Fun With Boyfriends Plus One [3]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Acting, Aftercare, Alien Sex, Alternate Universe - Elf, Anal Beads, Anal Plug, BDSM, BDSM Scene, Bad Ending, Bestiality, Bondage, Bukkake, Cannibalism, Cannibalistic Thoughts, Cock & Ball Torture, Collars, Communication, Consensual Non-Consent, Dehumanization, Derogatory Language, Dismemberment, Elf/Human Relationship(s), Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Enemas, Facials, Fetish, Forced Pregnancy, Gags, Heavy BDSM, Humiliation, Kidnapping, Latex, M/M, Marionette, Master/Pet, Milking, Mind Control, Minotaur - Freeform, Multi, Nipple Play, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, OT3, OT4, Orc Culture, Orcs, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Original Character(s), Partial Mind Control, Past Abuse, Pirates, Pony Play, Prostate Milking, Public Humiliation, Puppets, Requited Love, Restraints, Safewords, Slavery, Soldiers, Sounding, Space Pirates, Spanking, Spartans, Stockholm Syndrome, Verbal Abuse, Verbal Bondage, Verbal Humiliation, Whipping, concrete, encasement, living suit, m-preg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-03-13 05:29:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 36
Words: 124,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3369587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jathis/pseuds/Jathis, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dangersocks/pseuds/Safetypants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“Depravity and decadence are two sides of the same coin.”</i><br/>-Manoj Vaz</p><p> </p><p>Everyone loves Earl. In fact, everyone should have him...</p><p>(Weekly smut series exploring fetishes of many kinds and possessing some semblance of continuity and plot, sometimes...maybe...)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The sessions are…

Hmmm.

They’re nice.

Earl looks good with a red slip hanging low over his hips. His freckles are perfect. Carlos has hair that is easy to admire. Cecil often thinks of the things Adam begins to hope for a split second before the thoughts entertain the truck driver.

He listens dutifully to the rules of their playroom. To the scene being laid out. To everyone’s expectations and repeated safewords.

He assures them that he’s not bothered by sitting out.

For Earl, Adam explains that this is a service project. For Carlos, an experiment. For Cecil, the burlier brunette is simply happy to record their play and take notes of dialogue for the writer’s future stories.

Adam and Cecil often text about the stories. Emails and messages late into the night and across many state lines.

The sessions are nice, Adam decides, after participating in three of them.

\--

They upgrade to a more intense scene. Adam starts the camera. Carlos and Cecil have been going over some of Adam’s suggestions, and they will start to perform the one of the Elf being asked to entertain distant army commanders.

Cecil plays a leader of archers who does not want to send aid to the spoiled princeling. His advisor is played by Carlos, who is still wary of taking on a more aggressive role. Nevertheless, they set up the parameters at the start, Earl assuring them that he is comfortable. After all, he is not going to be trussed up, free to try recruiting their help by _engaging_ them. By selling the cause, and eventually himself.

Adam kicks back on a cushion as Cecil teases out an established continuity, his character outlining his knowledge of the spoiled princeling’s failures in recent battles. The elf tries to defend the armies, some of them under his own command. And finally, the advisor scoffs, suggesting that a demonstration be made. The elf should show off his skills if they are worth mentioning at all.

It is a brief diversion. Adam expects Carlos to demand a blow job to see if the mouth can live up to the words it promises, but instead, a lasso is produced. In combat between commander and elf, who could win? The radio host brightens at the idea, even as Adam frowns.

Soon, Cecil is wrapped tightly by the Scout’s talent with the flexible weapon. Earl turns to show off his prize and demand a more serious consideration to his request. This is when Carlos strikes him.

It sounds loud, though Earl is trained to take damage and minimize it. He is not expecting the blow, though, and as he flinches and draws away, the unimpressed advisor loops the rope connecting Earl to Cecil around the ginger’s head and chin. “Am I supposed to be inspired?” he snarls.

Adam tenses. He sees Cecil blink, struggling to identify if this is in character or not. The advisor is supposed to be jealous and devious, yet that is a reveal reserved for next session -- possibly the following morning. Not tonight.  

Earl curls in, but then is pulled forward by the bindings. The rope tightens and he flushes as his knees buckle. “Carl... _oh…!_ ”

“You like this,” growls Carlos. “You like this more than showing off.”

Adam stands up and realizes immediately that none of the three notice him. Earl is oblivious, and it bothers the brunette to see no glances thrown his way. Cecil is trying to shrug out of his knots, deciding to call it.

Carlos ignores the approaching form of their observer completely.

“Clover,” gasps Earl, smartly realizing that he _does_ like this. He likes this _too_ much. His eyes are blown black and his erection is obvious under his scarlet slip. “Clo--”

Carlos moves to slap him again, failing as he is pulled back by the trucker.

“Enough of that,” Adam orders.

Cecil looks very concerned, pulling one arm loose as he tries to use his Voice. “Stop! Car **los --** ”

“I am not done,” Carlos snaps, twisting against Adam.

“He’s called his safeword,” Cecil protests, looking crushed. Earl falls limblessly to his knees, a look of fear and confusion on his face. Adam tells himself to hate the expression, even as he finds it attractive. He hates himself as much as Cecil clearly does. “ **Earl, you’re okay. You did nothing wro--** ”

“Shut it!” Carlos snarls. “You talk too much, this is why Master gags you!”

Adam, having had enough, uses an old Scout trick to render Carlos unconscious. He does it gently, even though a part of him respects the scientist less for sucumbing.

Cecil swallows. “It’s...it’s not his fault.”

Adam nods. “Everyone should take a moment, and then you can try the Voice again.”

Earl, who looks flustered, is able to shuck himself free of his tangle and he moves to assist Cecil.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he tells Adam when they’ve carried Carlos to bed. “We’ll go over the tapes. Try to find the trigger.”

Cecil lies with the motionless man, trying to undo what he can with his Voice. He holds Carlos and murmurs quietly.

“Was there a trigger for you?” Adam asks, gently shutting himself and Earl out of the privacy of the bedroom.

Earl shrugs, not happy to admit that he himself had been just as much under the sway. “I don’t know why it...why I…”

Adam wishes for the courage to ask Earl if he needs help with his arousal. It’s still there. Instead, he pats Earl’s arm chastely. “If you don’t want to talk about it…”

“We should probably just stick with vanilla,” sighs the redhead, drawing away for what Adam expects will be a cold shower. “Excuse me.”

\--

Carlos apologizes. Carlos cries. It’s hard to hate him in the morning, and Adam is good at hating people in the morning. Within a week, they resume their sessions again. Even in a mundane role, the scientist becomes extra careful with his every move. He uses safewords and checks safewords. Scenes become full of stop-go-stop moments.

They’re still good. They still slightly arouse Adam. They are fun thought-experiments. It’s great to be a part of the process.

It’s…

It’s vanilla.

Adam sighs when he gets home, climbing into bed. He’s not interested in the usual quick masturbation and he’s not really disappointed. The others are being safe. They’re comfortable and Adam is really just the fail-safe. His interests are secondary, but Earl had told him that he had been grateful, right? That’s worth the moon, if the moon were a thing that existed...

Earl will never be subjugated and helpless again.

That’s...that’s a good thing.

Adam decides he’ll stick with this, even if it isn’t what he had expected. It is a far cry from what he had hoped. So Earl is _not_ the sub Adam had caught himself inventing. Cecil is _not_ the devious, creative spirit anymore that Adam used to read. Carlos is _not_ the clever inventor of new kinds of punishments, and everyone is glad for that.

They are just a trio of lovers, plus one.

\--

Adam finds irony in taking his rig to the aptly named state of Misery. His emails to Cecil are composed of tame smut.

He gets a reply, one evening. It is a few days after their latest session -- perhaps a week, Adam isn’t fully sure. He’s supposed to buy a timepiece with gears and parts inside while abroad, and then return it to Carlos -- and Adam knows the others have promised to wait on intimacy until the former Scout returns.

They won’t allow Carlos to do something he will later regret, or for Earl to go jumping off a cliff to save Night Vale.

NVVoice sends him a simple question. _“Are we too vanilla?”_

Adam looks at the screen while he lounges in his parked truck’s cabin. _“You are...more vanilla then you were before.”_

He exhales. It’s a safe answer, he thinks. He doesn’t want to complain. Watching the crush of his life get sex, even the docile, uninteresting, and a-shadow-of-what-it-could-have-been sex is better than living alone. He refuses to complain.

Adam does not expect Cecil to respond with, _“Do you think Earl minds the vanilla sex?”_

Frowning, the driver cocks his head as a few moths start to drop against his window in the twilight. The fuzzy insects splotch his laptop screen by blocking the parking lot lamps. Adam readjusts as he considers Cecil’s sudden inquiry.

Earl has not shown an interest in changing their habits, but the ginger often looks directly at Carlos when he says he is _fine_ with their plans. Just fine...

_“Did anything happen?”_

A pause progresses, time enough for the dark haired man to watch his cursor blink. The pattering of tiny bodies on glass becomes incessant.

_“Yes.”_

Adam grips the computer and swears. Shit! They were supposed to wait for him. His mind races and he tries to contextualize how any of this could have happened. The ginger _knows_ better. In fact, he’s not even supposed to be home this week. Away at camp with the boys.

Oh Gods. They’ll be by the Gorge and…

 _“I need your help,”_ Cecil adds.

This is a good sign, Adam tells himself. Asking for help means that it is not too late to...well, turn himself around and find a way to fix whatever is wrong. _“what do you need Cecil?!”_

_“Your memories. Of Earl. As a kid.”_

Adam stares. It’s...another thing he does not expect. _“What do you mean?”_

Then Cecil tells him. Frustratingly slow, at first, confessing that his memory concerning their younger years is not good. This much Adam knows. He had once worked with Cecil on badges and the radio host still treats him like a friend recently met and made. The trucker does not take it personally. He says as much with frantic typing. _“Get on with it!”_ So Cecil explains that while Earl is abroad at camp, his old computer had needed recycling. But after Cecil had agreed to submit the machine to the proper authorities, Carlos had volunteered to back up the hard-drive before handing the obsolete box over.

_“We found something.”_

_“I don’t understand,”_ Adam types, still waiting to hear of what abuses had befallen whom.

_“It’s made me worried that Early doesn’t like the vanilla sex, and just is being nice about telling me.”_

_“Ceec. I don’t understand. WHat did you find on Earl’s computer/”_

Adam’s cell phone rings.

He scoops it up, expecting Cecil to trust his voice over other communication methods.

It’s not Cecil.

“Adam?”

“Earl?” Adam exclaims, shifting so he can type with one arm. “Um, hi!”

“Is this a bad time?” asks the Scoutmaster.

“No!” insists the brunette, trying to type to Cecil that their subject is on the line. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, well…” Earl sounds like he’s pacing. “I have a feeling. It’s...camping’s good. I mean, the usual things are trying to kill us. I’ve got tracks I can’t identify circling the campsite. But that’s not what’s bothering me. I just...I have a feeling. Something ominous. Can you give Cecil or Carlos a ring or a message to check up?”

Across the screen, Cecil writes, _“We found a lot of porn on Earl’s old computer.”_

“Uh huh,” Adam nods, now more frantically trying to respond to Cecil. “I’m...I’m sure it’s nothing but I’ll call. Other than that, how are you? I mean, regarding the sessions.”

It’s not a question he even means to bring up with Earl. His mouth is just moving. His hands, too. _“What kind of porn?”_

This is him being a bad friend. This is him being a creep.

On the other side, Earl shrugs loud enough for the truck driver to hear. “It’s...it’s okay. Is it okay for you? I know it’s a strange position to put you in.”

“As long as you’re happy, Earl.”

“I’m...I’m happy. Just, rough patches, right?”

Adam nods.

 _"He wrote a journal. And lots of scenarios,_ ” Cecil finally answers. Text dances across Adam’s screen. _“Its hard to describe. Rough things. I want to talk to him. But you know him best.”_

It’s almost like a compliment, maybe.

Adam wishes he knows Earl best.

“Rough,” he agrees over the phone. “Trust me, I know rough. Uh, I’ll check up on Cecil and Carlos. But you should focus on the tangible threats. Not...not the...unknown ones. I’m positive nobody from StrexCorp can get them right now.”

“Right,” Earl agrees. “I think...I think we should sit down and talk. All of us. Maybe. But you and I, too.”

“I bet it’ll happen,” Adam assures. He glances at his window and it is crawling in moths. Thousands of them. He hears something in the vents. A skittering. “Oh, um...I should go. Misery is kind of dangerous and weird, too. Next session?”

“Take care,” Earl bids, before the line dies.

" _Earl suspects you found something,”_ Adam quickly types as he fishes for his keys. The entire outside of his truck is covered in the fuzzy, powdery bodies of the swarm. _“He called just now. Did you find something that shouldn’t have been found?”_

_“All of it?”_

_“Can you send it?”_

He’s a bad friend, he thinks. The first moth scuttles into the cabin as he starts the engine. A dozen more of the bugs follow as his email inbox chimes from the laptop.

Adam could use a spider right now.

\---

Theory, by Carlos: Earl’s early interest in being subjugated and used by another is a very good explanation for why the Smiling God favours him.

The theory makes sense to Adam after he reads the first few stories.

 _Forsaken Spire!_ Earl’s early interests put Cecil’s most ambitious tales to shame. The ginger, in poor grammar, describes being tied down and sacrificed by black cultists. Tentacles and terrors. He describes poles left in the desert with himself strapped upon it. Eaten by monsters. Sometimes there’s a rescue, but it’s always perilous and close. Adam would bet money on a younger Earl writing those kinds of endings because he feels he should, but preferring the alternatives. The author imagines sinking sand and things clutching at him from below. Of hangings that take an absurd amount of time to kill him.

Adam recognizes when Earl had become interested in Roman history. He laments at the repeating mention of a pale-haired master with a voice like silk. Adam catches his jealousy and casts it aside. He had always known his companion had pined after Cecil. How fortunate that Cecil’s mean streak had been so tempered with clumsy kindness.

Adam is surprised to see the rare cameo of himself, too. A larger rival overpowering Earl. Doing things to him for getting certain accomplishments first. Earl had often gotten badges before Adam. The brunette had tried not to let his envy show.

Now that... _that_ is intriguing.

They’re poorly written episodes, compared to Cecil’s stories. But they’re clearly early examples of a budding sexuality. They’re dark and dangerous, often mistaking anatomy terms. They defy physics more than the usual slip-ups of nature. Earl’s hero loses his head, or his limbs. He loses his life while his body continues to serve the twisted desires of villains. The writings evolve, finding some details to embellish -- Delayed or denied orgasms. Hopeless situations. Peril that goes on and on and on as if the author is afraid to commit to a final escape or violent end.

Adam imagines a young Earl fondling himself to these fantasies. Spending moments in his puberty trying not to imagine such things at school, or at camp. A developing ginger aware that he cannot share such thoughts because it would reveal himself to be broken or dirty. the journal that faithfully accompanies the stories prove as much.

Thirty-four bytes exist in one single word document: _What is wrong with Earl Harlan? :(_

Adam wishes he had known. He also hopes that he would have been good enough when he was younger to at least assure Earl that his urges and fantasies were no indication of a damaged or deranged personality. Adam had experienced a similar phase, often on the other side of the dream. He had never written his erotica down, but he had guarded that interest all the same. Even the Faceless Old Woman had only just gained access to Adam’s basement stash.

Young Earl had liked seeing himself as vulnerable. As a victim. And Adam would have happily supplied the victimizing. The former Scoutmaster can separate those daydreams for his own private musings. He would never hurt anyone outside of those visions. And he had never known what caused such things to thrill him in the privacy of his space downstairs.

Are not all individuals like that, though? Hoarding their fetishes and hoping to someday find someone they trust willing enough to explore them?

Earl had found Cecil, first.

Well...sort of.

Even Cecil had sounded surprised at the stash. At the...deepness of the depravity within those ideas.

And here Adam is, driving back to Night Vale with an awareness that he is going to be caught. He had had an opportunity to warn Earl of his Pandora’s box being pulled open. Carlos’ good intentions risk hard feelings.

 _Hard_ feelings, Adam groans.

“Shit.”

Earl could be angry. This would be the exact kind of betrayal of trust that shows how Adam doesn’t deserve to explore _anything_ with the redhead. And yet, he worries more because Carlos and Cecil had broken that trust too.

What if they all lose Earl?

Where will Earl be then? is a more terrifying thought. Marked by a Smiling God...

Adam finds that it is _this_ fear that helps him keep moving, even as he entertains the idea of pulling a City Council and just...driving straight on to Miami.

Driving home to confront or confess to Earl is _not_ bravery, Adam acknowledges. If he were truly deserving, he’d call up the Scout and warn him now.

He thinks of what he could say: “Earl, you aren’t a bad person for wanting this. We’re all happy to know your interest in being dominated is genuine and we’d all like to continue in that direction if you’ll let us. We respect you. We know this is not all of who you are, and you’ve exhibited courage and strength in times of danger. You’ve succeeded in denying that submission to a Smiling God. And it means so much to us that you trust us with your body and your secrets...”

Gods, where is a voice recorder when Adam needs one?

Earl’s camping trip should be finishing soon. Adam’s truck will be crossing into radio range of Night Vale by evening.

He has no idea how he can save face and this relationship, until the static buzz of a particular voice welcomes him home once again.

That’s right, nods the trucker. He is not alone if he has Cecil and Carlos also appealing to Earl.

In fact, embracing these amateur fantasies could be good for all of them…

\--

He expects more time. Hopping down from his rig, Adam finds that he is not alone in the fenced in yard that houses his truck. The dark shadows crafted by an elusive moon hide mostly everything, but the hairs on Adam’s neck rise. He gets two gravelly steps towards his car when he spots the interloper.

“Earl?!”

The ginger does not answer right away. Adam feels himself being scrutinized. Picked apart in the evening. A window over the truck-wash reflects hovering lights. Maybe the lights will take him away before Earl tells him how inappropriate he has been.

“Did you have plans?” Earl finally asks. It is a terse, straight-forward question.

Honestly, Adam had planned to swing by Cecil’s after calling ahead. “It’s Sunday. I usually don’t have plans then.”

They’re very close to one another, Adam drifting closer to where Earl waits.

“Adam, it’s Tuesday.”

“It’s…” No. Because Earl comes back on his trip Sunday and finds out about his computer. And then Adam joins Cecil in defending their plans and… “It’s Sunday.”

“Sunday was two days ago,” informs Earl. “Time is weird, I’m told.”

“And what else have you been told?” Adam asks, feeling his stomach drop. Earl being here now makes much more sense -- a good Scout is prepared for a confrontation. Earl has had two extra days to prepare for _this_ confrontation.  

“I packed the car,” Earl states. “Come camping with me?”

“Just us?”

“Just us.”

“Are you...going to yell at me?” Adam asks.

“Possibly,” shrugs Earl.

“And I’m going to be punished?”

Earl shrugs a shoulder, not denying it.

Adam looks over at Earl’s car just beyond the private property. He whispers, “Do I ever get to punish you?”

He thinks he sees teeth. Maybe even a blush in the dark. “Possibly.”

“Then I have no plans for Tuesday…”

\--

They share a tent under cold stars and desert noises. Like old times, even, save for how quickly Earl pins Adam when the last peg is driven into the sand.

“Um, Earl?”

“You can fight back,” Earl comments blithely, while having the advantage of surprise and an immunity to the guilt that Adam carries. The entire drive to the site had been full of silence. Uncommitted conversations from his host. Earl had even brushed off questions regarding Cecil and Carlos, and the trucker had deeply considered other influences at work before dismissing them.

His friend is focused. His friend is organizing his thoughts and they most likely will have a big talk. Now, it is a talk that’s being done with Adam stuck to the ground.

“You didn’t have to give me the fight,” Earl murmurs, stepping over the brunette to grab his bag.

Adam shifts a wrist and finds it effectively trapped by a devious knot and a tent peg driven decisively into the earth. “I didn’t. You hardly fought fair.”

“Good,” remarks the ginger. “So you know I’m capable of doing that.”

“I never thought you weren’t.”

Earl rummages through his things and Adam is left to imagine what the Scoutmaster-chef had packed. Everything had to have been planned out. If this is going to be “play” or “dangerous,” they should set some guidelines. Suddenly, the lack of Earl’s other boyfriends is a concern.

“I think it’s fair to establish that this is not _my_ fetish,” Adam warns.

“Yes, it all comes down to fetishes,” sighs Earl. He turns so he’s sitting, casually watching his companion stretched out. Clothes are still on. A lamp flickers with runeglow from the edge of the tent. “Cecil sent you quite a bit of mine and you encouraged that.”

“Um,” swallows the brunette. “That’s...that’s true.”

“Why?”

Adam shifts. He recognizes the tactics, though his time away from being a Scoutmaster has kept him from being as honed as he could be. Earl has divided Adam from Cecil and Carlos. This is a standard interrogation now. “Because I’ve...always been interested in you. But you’re kind of off the market.”

“I see,” Earl says, giving nothing away.

“I quit Scouts when you weren’t there anymore. And I joined my new job because it filled a sudden hole in my life. Now I’m kind of...stuck with my job. Which isn’t awful. But it has caused me to miss out on opportunities to get back into a relationship with you. Even a mundane one. I didn’t know about StrexCorp. I didn’t know about the Smiling God thing. Not until after the fact, and I would have involved myself if I could have.”

“You inserted yourself into Cecil’s story worlds instead?”

“Earl, I like...I like seeing y--the _elf_ , subjugated. It’s exactly like your hard drive stories. I would never wish bad things to happen to you, but it’s nice knowing you have the same fetishes. I recognize that it was wrong of us to look at those documents without your permission but…”

Earl shifts. He quietly grants information, stating, “I spoke with Cecil and Carlos already. And to be fair, Carlos only planned to save me a backup before he knew what had been on there. Cecil can’t help himself, and in the past, Carlos and I had once cracked his computer password to read ahead on his stories. It was wrong of us, too, and in a way this incident is an ironic sort of karma. Though that doesn’t really excuse _you_ , does it?”

Adam deflates. “No, I guess not.”

“So…”

“So…” agrees Adam, dropping his head back and consigning himself to whatever comes next. It would be well within Earl’s rights to kick him out of the group. To cut all ties with the truck driver and even have the Sheriff charge Adam with some kind of privacy law. Hell, they may even be out here in the middle of nowhere with Adam trussed up to create a more permanent solution. “What now?”

“Now,” Earl hums as he starts to unfasten his belt. “I’m going to give you exactly what you want. These last two days have helped me get over my horror of having those old stories found, and then explore the reasons why those stories existed. Maybe I needed to tie you down so I could prove to you _and_ to myself that I still had it in me to take control. Maybe it was so you’d be a captive audience as I outlined some new ideas I’m allowing myself to have…”

Adam swallows, craning his head to watch the silver flash of the belt buckle as it is tossed aside. A zipper slides free, teeth ungnashing to reveal briefs and a cock that Adam thinks often about. Earl is graceful when he shimmies out of his many-pocketed pants.

“Cecil suggested it, actually,” he adds. “I’m encouraged to think of some scenarios, and being as you think so much like me, that I should run them by you.”

This...this is surreal.

“Uh huh?” Adam prompts. “Like...like the ones I’ve read.”

“More detailed, now that I’m more experienced,” Earl agrees, revealing at last some of the tools he had packed. A bottle of lubricant. A cock ring and a vibrating plug “You are entitled to watch, as you’re so determined to keep your interest in me to yourself.”

Adam drops his mouth open, stifling his protest only because Earl shoots him a look. A satisfied, challenging look. _This_ is Adam’s punishment.

Maybe even well-deserved.

“Do you think your yard would be private enough for a dog house and a bit of petplay? I took a look on Monday and it’s pretty muddy and small. But you’ve got that hose…”

Adam can hardly believe his own ears. His companion is sprawling onto his back and fluttering his lashes shut as he takes his slick palms and strokes himself. Each motion is deliciously perfect, only overshadowed by the content of his words. He is asking about Adam’s yard!

Already, the tied up man is imagining the collar and chain, and how the ancient clothesline post installed in the grassless lot could hold Earl. Oh Masters, a muzzle and a tail shoved into his…

He is caught staring, and Earl, blushing, still wickedly grins as if his Telepathy badge is newly won. He makes a show of slipping a finger beneath his leg, out of Adam’s sight, and penetrating himself. “I wouldn’t bark or make noises at first, trying to protest my treatment. I would think I were a person unfairly kidnapped. But my catcher has plans to sell me to a very wealthy and flamboyant man, who brings along his vet…”

Adam strains, finding his limited motions teasing at the layers trapping his own cock. He knows Earl is watching him and Adam doesn’t care. The moment he’s free…

“Or, if we’re dealing with my love of all things Rome, there’s you besting me in the Colosseum. But our audience decides that my death is not as fun as other punishments…”

Adam bites back a groan. Earl’s cock is free and lithe fingers stroke up the underside, gently encouraging it. Those hands should be shackled or bound in mittens. If Adam were a dog catcher, he would have leather, fingerless gloves taking away any grip or freedom of Earl’s. If he were a soldier, he would impress their masters by making the redhead beg.

“Earl, I swear, if you don’t let me go right now I’m going to free myself and you’ll regret it.”

It’s a promise and a threat. Mostly, it is an encouragement. One Earl takes by gracefully sitting up to fetch his discarded briefs. With a wink, he leans over Adam and applies the pressure point that unhinges the brunette’s jaw. The pain, while brief, provokes a roar before Adam is silenced with the clothing that had been guarding Earl’s intimates. They taste like him. The belt is looped easily around his head, cinching the gag into place.

“You never spoke up before,” Earl chastises, before plucking the cock ring up and letting it settle on the crown of his freckled cock. He twirls it without shoving it on. A shiver slips up Earl’s spine. “Gags are one of my fetishes, too. You know that.”

Adam swears that he’ll gag Earl soon with his own cock, joyfully aware that he gets to. That he is not being cast out, but rather teased. Being teased is good. Adam will bank each offense and pay Earl back thricefold.

The beautiful ginger smirks, moving on to the next fantasy.

\--

It takes work to get free. Especially under Earl’s nose. The Scoutmaster had applied all of his knots properly, but Adam is still talented in forbidden arts. It just takes more time than he’d like. He adds each moment to the ledger.

Earl outlines several stories and each one Adam willingly entertains. In many, he has his own twists to contribute, but being silenced means he has to wait before revealing those. Earl is not shy tonight and there is no way he doesn't anticipate his prisoner turning the tables on him.

Rough sex.

Every proposed scene includes rough sex with a willing/unwilling submissive. Earl’s protagonist is brave, and overwhelmed, and humiliated, and perfect. Adam had hoped to be free before his companion cums, but that is not to be so. Earl is describing a poor burglar’s fate in Adam’s basement when he climaxes.

Adam glimpses his own uncherished erection as his eyes follow the stream of fluid that glitters for a moment in waning runelight. Earl drops exhausted onto his side, part-embarrassed and part-pleased. It is nice to be so trusted as to see Earl in this state.

One more secretly loosened knot and Adam can take advantage of that weariness. Being unable to say anything, Adam plans to simply show Earl how he will use the shared fetishes to bring about a second orgasm to the redhead. Adam has a pocket knife and a desert with no witnesses. He has a list of Earl’s cheeky offenses to repay, a cock, and a respect of Earl’s safewords.

“Anyhow,” hums the ginger, ‘foolishly’ closing his eyes. “Those are olive my ideas at the moment. You’re a really good listener. Maybe if you’re out of town, you could let Cecil, Carlos, and I borrow your yard to enact some of those…”

“I’d like to renegotiate my placement in your sex games,” Adam answers. He’s got the gag free an instant after his wrists are loose. “But I’ll talk that over with Cecil and Carlos. It’s funny that you think you have a say, slut…”

\--

In the morning, Adam is awake enough to hear a car approaching. It might be a mile away. A haze fills the part of the sky that Adam can see through the crack in the tent opening. A haze obscures an unkind sun.

Earl nuzzles closer to Adam, still tied to the ground under the blankets. He is naked and spread out, possessing only a lap for a pillow. That lap he had to earn by pleasing, and now it must be relinquished so the brunette can investigate the potential threat of their visitors.

The ginger does not rouse as his head is gently eased to the ground. Adam had worked him hard and he needs the rest. Swollen lips slip under teeth, and that is the only sign that Earl is aware that he’s been moved. Adam fondly admires that, still bewildered that everything has changed so much in his favour. Then he rises to meet the approaching vehicle.

It is Cecil’s car. Adam grins as he stretches in the open wasteland.

“We thought you’d like breakfast.”

“I’ve already eaten,” admits the truck driver. “But I left some for you.”

Carlos still lugs out a cooler and blanket as Cecil giggles, giving Adam an unexpected hug before checking up on the most valued member of their future domination games.


	2. High Heel Wearing War Trophy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein the boys play a game of war with heels.

Earl mewled softly, biting down on the metal bit forced between his teeth. Drool spilled profusely from his partially open mouth and he groaned, trying and failing to stop himself as the moisture slid down his quivering chin, piling up onto the wood of the stocks that kept his head and hands locked into place. The redhead shifted a little, flinching as the red high heels he was wearing pinched his feet, reminding him that these were the only article of clothing he had been allowed to wear.

The stocks had finally been created several days before, a combination effort of mostly Earl creating them and then Cecil using his woodworking skills to carve patterns into the wood before it was polished and finished to avoid splintering. They were designed so that they could be placed anywhere and used for any position, a versatile toy for their games and scenes.

At the moment the stocks were hanging from the ceiling horizontally, forcing Earl to keep his arms bent and hands up on either side of his head, looking as if he were posing himself. Adam had forced the high heeled shoes onto his feet before forcing him to stand up on two wooden chairs, one for each leg before the stocks were locked into place. In the end Earl stands in a rigid posture, his thighs and calf muscles defined as he supports himself.

The other three play the roles of victors after a long campaign somewhere. A bottle of wine that Cecil had purchased earlier is opened and shared between the three, laughing as they congratulate each other on their victory and capture of the rebellion's leader. They run their hands over Earl's quivering thighs and stomach, avoiding touching his cock as it starts to swell and become erect under their taunts and touches.

Carlos made a point to reach out and cup Earl's testicles in the palm of his hand. He fondles them lazily, looking up to watch as Earl's eyes flutter closed, lips pulled back as he keens around his bit. “He's a fascinating specimen for a barbarian,” he said, looking over at the other two, “and I'm surprised at his balance.”

Adam took this as his cue. The brunette waited for Carlos to let go before stepping forward, smiling up at Earl wickedly as he took hold of the back of one of the chairs. He shook the chair suddenly, watching as Earl tensed up, trying to compensate for the sudden imbalance in his heels. He stopped before any actual harm could be done, chuckling before giving Earl's ass a sharp slap. “Very good balance,” he agreed with Carlos.

“And how should we get our trophy ready for the long march back to the capital?” Cecil asked, already knowing the answer.

“He needs a good whipping first,” Adam reminded him, reaching up to spank said ass across both cheeks, watching as Earl rocked forward with a mewl before righting himself. “And I think...something to keep him feeling full during the long march. It'll be a couple of days on foot and we don't want our trophy feeling ignored, do we?”

Carlos smiled and nodded in agreement, reaching up again to take firm hold of Earl's shaft. “A rod should be placed here to ensure he stays erect for everyone to see,” he added.

“With our flag on the end of it!” Cecil chirped proudly, standing up a little straighter at the idea.

Earl whimpered a garbled olive and nodded his head as Cecil and Carlos step back and sit down to watch Adam use his whip. He cracked the painful leather inches away from Earl's body first, taunting him with the slightest sensation of the whip coming towards his flesh. When he was finally ready he struck Earl on one of his nipples first, making it change color upon impact almost instantly. The other nipple was given the same treatment and Adam started his work in earnest, expertly aiming exactly where and how each lash would land across Earl's stomach, chest, and thighs. A few times he let the lash come dangerously close to striking Earl's erection, landing just above the base of the shaft and in his pubic hair.

Once Adam was finished with Earl's front, he idly walked around to deal with his back and ass. “Hold still,” he warned, noting the way Earl's legs trembled, heeled feet shifting every so slightly on the chairs. “What color armor did we find you wearing, trophy?” he asked.

“Ngh...ah-livuh...”

“Are you sure?”

“Mhm.”

Cecil was always so delighted whenever Adam showed off his skill using a whip on Earl. He had been so surprised when Adam first revealed his talent with the weapon, asking him where he had learned such a skill. This had of course forced Adam and Earl to sit Cecil down, reminding him once again that Adam had earned his Whip Proficiency Badge back when they were all around ten years old and in the Scouts together. The Voice had been confused about this revelation but Adam and Earl had simply waved it off; Cecil  _was_  the most heavily Re-Educated out of everyone in Night Vale.

Earl's freckled body was covered in bright red lash marks by the time Adam was finally finished with him. Tears were rolling down his cheeks, hands clenched into trembling fists as he whimpered. His cock was still as hard as ever, a single drop of pre forming at the head. He gasped when Carlos stood up and reached out, wiping away the pre with his thumb.

“Which should go in first?” Cecil asked, holding up a sounding rod and a thick anal plug that ended with a red horse's tail. He smiled brightly when Adam reached out for the plug, giving it to him and shifting so that he could watch as a liberal amount of lubricant was spread over the toy, careful not to get any on the tail end of it.

The plug was pushed into Earl at an achingly slow pace. He opened his mouth in a silent scream, the bit banging against his teeth as he pushed back against the plug, forcing it further into him. He blushed when his actions made the three laugh softly, taunting him with his eagerness to be filled. His chest rose and fell rapidly, mewling as he felt the plug come to a stop as it just barely touched his prostate.

“There we go...nice and ready, hm?” Adam asked, taking hold of the tail and giving the plug a shake, making the end rub against Earl's prostate. This of course made the redhead let out another pleasured wail and he snickered, nodding over at Carlos to finish.

Cecil kept an eye on Carlos as the sounding rod was slipped into place. He could see the way the Outsider's hand trembled ever so slightly but his chest welled up with pride as Carlos controlled himself, pushing the sounding rod inside of Earl's erection without trying to hurt the redhead in the process. When he's finished he adds a comical looking little flag to the end of it, making Earl's erection into a flag stand.

“How does it look?” Carlos asked. He smiled when Cecil rested a hand on the small of his back, pressing a kiss to his temple.

“It's perfect, Carlos,” Cecil assured him as Adam pulled up another chair to stand on himself. “Now we just need to get our trophy ready for transportation!”

Earl sighed softly in relief as he was freed from the stocks, grunting as Adam took hold of his wrists, twisting them behind his back before urging him to step down. He moved slowly, hissing as his heels clicked softly on the wooden floor. Cecil clapped a metal collar around Earl's throat as Carlos placed manacles on his wrists. A short chain was then slipped through the ring in front of the collar before the ends were attached to the manacles, forcing him to hold up his hands as if he were an animal, begging for a treat as his hands hung just below the collar.

“Oh but our trophy does look so hungry,” Cecil mused, reaching out to stroke Earl's cheek. “Are you hungry?”

They laugh when Earl whined and shook his head. Adam kicked the back of his knees as Carlos grabbed onto his arm, easing him down onto his knees with a clatter. He watched as the three opened up their pants, pulling erect cocks out and stroking themselves over his head and in front of his face. He mewled, shifting on his knees as he tried to shake his head in protest, panting out another 'olive' all the same.

Earl shuddered in pleasure as he felt them cumming on his face. He mewled, gasping as his hair was grabbed, forcing his head back to make sure some of the cum slid through his gagged lips and into his mouth. His eyes were half-lidded and dark by the time the three were finished, hips thrusting forward in need.

“You look...so perfect,” Carlos whispered, stroking Earl's hair.

“Come on, let's go,” Adam purred, yanking Earl up onto his heels. He gave his full ass a sharp slap, making him jump and stagger forward. “Knees up! Give everyone a good show, right?”

That night as they slept after the scene was finished and they had washed and eaten; Earl would think back to the sounds his high heels had made as he was led up the stairs and into the bedroom and he would mewl to himself, his feet and body still aching in a wonderful way.


	3. Cecil wants a new pet.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cecil wants a dog, but knows nothing about them. Fortunately, he's got a vet with a connection to a very dubious supplier...
> 
> (A pet-play scene.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer -- This story features pet-play, which is a fetish not everyone enjoys reading. The scene portrayed is consensual (yet acted as non-consensual). Good BDSM-boyfriends communicate and we've tried to demonstrate that. 
> 
> Thanks to our two betas, who also instructed one of us in a thing-or-two about cock behaviour. They are especially kind editors, helping us with grammar/criticism despite not having a fondness for the fetishes mentioned. Thanks.

Car doors slam. If Earl’s ears could twitch, they would. Adam’s lips quirk as he slips into character. Safewords have been confirmed. The buttons in Earl Harlan’s bondage mittens are functional and have been demonstrated. Left for stop. Right -- once for assistance, three rights for go.

“Ready?” Adam asks once more, not kindly. But he is paying attention.

A small electric box newly mounted on the metal clothesline pole chimes three times, a green indicator flickering along with the sound.

“Good boy,” Adam rumbles. He tells himself a simple trick should not be rewarded, turning away from the mutt.

The sound of a gate creaking closed comes from the side of the house. Adam tracks new prints into the mud to greet his visitors.

Clients, he affirms. He rounds the corner to find a man in a pristine lab coat and careless hair, and --

“Lost Spire!” A glove slaps to his stubble and Adam tries to clamp down on his words. “What the hell are you wearing?!”

Cecil Palmer stops abruptly, eyes wide and gaze flicking down in case he happened to have forgotten to dress. Or... _how_ to dress. He assesses. He finds himself worthy. And then he says, “My good Sir, we’ve been looking to get a pet for some time now and we’ve heard that you’ve got a reputation for…”

For some reason only he can possibly understand, the Voice is wearing a violently garish kimono. That, along with his over the top acting, renders Adam a shaking, gasping mess as he doubles over and lets his old house support him.

A finger is raised, pleading a moment from the two as Adam loudly -- and rudely, yes, he knows -- laughs and heaves and tries to control himself. It might be the anticipation. It might be the excitement of this long planned event, but Cecil is hilarious. Especially now with his wounded look.

Carlos sighs, murmuring something about, “I did say it was a _bit_ much…”

The pout continues while the truck driver attempts to explain himself. “I’m sorry. I’m...I’m so sorry. It’s just...you look like...oh Gods, I can’t even say them, I...I’m not crying. I’m really not. Ho’ shit...just...this is our first game and...and the kimono...okay, okay, oh...okay, just...I’ll take this out on Earl.”

That solidifies Adam enough to suck in a voluntarily breath, thinking of the things they all can take out on the ginger soon. The name also encourages Cecil to forgive the assault on his dubious fashion statement to peer around the side of the house at the centerpiece of their afternoon.

When Adam has regained his colour and his posture, the pale man in a ridiculous kimono starts again with a great deal of work-inspired professionality. “We've been looking to get a pet for some time now but all the other dog sellers haven't had the kind of breed we've been looking for."

The brunette struggles to keep his face as blank as possible, now. “Well, at the moment I’ve only got one dog for sale. I caught him a few weeks ago.”

Adam is grateful when Cecil brings his fingers together, rubbing at his wrists anxiously. A character trait. “A free range dog? Are you sure it’s safe?”

Cecil turns to Carlos with big, trusting eyes and the scientist redirects his attention to Adam. His gaze is as cool as the stethoscope around his neck. “You are highly recommended.”

“The mutt is perfectly fine,” Adam answers, biting his inner cheek to keep from snickering. Now he knows it is less of the silliness and more of his excitement to be part of the games. “I trained him myself. Come on in! Mind your step, it rained last night.”

The ground is rust-coloured and soft, damp from the previous evening’s rain that Adam had summoned from the few badges he remembered. That had been the first thing he could show off for Scoutmaster Earl, before their session.

Said Scoutmaster is now on his knees in the middle of the yard. The clinging dirt sticks to Earl’s knees, forcing him to balance precariously on his only base of support. He’s naked, with a tight leather collar around his neck with a large silver ring in the front. Leather mittens prevent him from using his arms, and they are shackled tightly to the collar giving him an appearance of constantly begging. He stares up at the three, mewling around a bit gag shaped like a cartoonish bone. This shows off his teeth as he is forced to bite down over it. To complete the image, he wears floppy dog ears that are held in place with a headband.

He whines when the shadows of the three drape over him, squirming in embarrassment.

"What kind of breed is that?" Carlos asks.

"Some kind of Irish," Adam responds with a shrug. He reaches down to run a hand through messy, red hair, yanking on it to force the head back. Earl lifts himself to keep from toppling. "He might just be a mongrel though. Most _Irish_ breeds are..."

"It's not their fault that they have inferior breeding practices," Carlos the Veterinarian coos, smiling down into Earl's glaring face. "He seems healthy enough...although I insist a more...thorough inspection."

"He seems unruly," Cecil worries, circling around Earl.

"Oh, he's one to watch out for. Which is why I told you over the phone that I would recommend keeping me on call for further discipline. But here, an example of why that's worth it...he looks unhappy now, but I can get that tail wagging..."

A gloved hand taps Earl’s nose before Adam moves.

A second later, the bell sings thrice with a green light flashing over them.

Earl still mewls in frightened understanding as his "trainer” reaches down, revealing a small, brown tail that's been tucked into his ass. A firm tug on the collar keeps the potential pet from shifting away and a moment later, Adam has the vibrator going. It shakes the insertion as if Earl were happy about the company.

Immediately, the animal tenses and relaxes, unsure of how to deal with the penetrating sensations.

"Very nice," Carlos praises. "Not many can control their animals. Mongrels are especially difficult to break in."

"Ah, but I love my job," Adam beams, ruffling Earl's hair as he continues to hold tight to the collar. "And I'd like to be sure this one gets a secure home."

Between them, Earl slowly grows hard, shutting his eyes and whimpering around his gag as his cock starts bobbing in the air, lightly bumping against his stomach.

"Are all mongrels this easily aroused?" Cecil asks, looking for all intents and purposes like the clueless pet owner. Adam bites his lip as he tries to imagine the endless backstory Cecil has probably crafted for his role.

"It's from their Irish blood," Carlos explains, adopting a sneer.

"It's what makes them such good pets once they're broken in," Adam adds, calmly removing a leather cockring from his pocket. He easily forces it onto Earl despite his wriggling and whining, locking it tight around the base of his cock. He then taps the animal’s nose.

Three rings. Green light. A staggered sob.

"Has he been trained for feeding?" Cecil asks.

Adam flashes a smile nearly as bright as the kimono, "Of course!"

Cecil turns to his companion and says, "Perhaps you'd best instruct me?"

Carlos nods sagely, glad to be showing off his own knowledge of such things. "We'll need to remove the bone."

"I've a muzzle just for the job," offers Adam.

Earl pathetically shakes his head, unable to move much in his pose. He attempts to rock back on his tail to increase the pressure, but Adam pulls him forward with a tug. The catcher unhooks the strap at the back of Earl’s head and firmly asks, "Is our mongrel going to behave for our...clients?"

Gasping, Earl tries to growl around a dry tongue and his growing needs. "I am _not_ some animal, and I swear I'll bite olive you..."

Cecil squeaks with indignity and Adam enjoys the opportunity to punish his mutt further by grabbing his hair and wrenching him forward.

"I'm not surprised," tuts Carlos, stepping back. "They're _very_ disobedient."

"This one seems rather...rough," Cecil says, shifting his weight from foot to foot uneasily. "Are you sure I should get him?"

"Nothing is certain before we inspect him," Carlos reminds his patron. "It's just how this breed acts."

An open mouth spider-gag is produced and Earl hisses, fighting Adam as the bigger man pries his fingers into the sides of his mouth and pinches at Earl's nose.

Then he is reduced to growls and angrily pants between words as his teeth fail to clamp down to communicate or bite.

"There, look at that mouth," Carlos hums, dropping into a crouch so he can turn the mutt's head his way and that. Earl tries to break away but Adam is behind, snagging the collar and the back of the new gag. His neck has no strength to fight back and Carlos eagerly slips his fingers in, tracing teeth and depressing tongue.

"Looks healthy enough. You’ve also shown a great deal more restraint with this mutt than anyone would expect. Now, our dear purchaser. Let's demonstrate how a feeding is done."

"I don't know...what if I mess it up?" Cecil frets.

Carlos touches at Cecil reassuringly. He needs no help in playing the part of an expert or an instructor. He stands and opens his perfect coat, still unmarked by mud. A zipper slides down, revealing a half-hard erection.

The redhead wails, and Carlos speaks over it. “It’ll be easy,” he explains, hesitating unexpectedly before poking at the freckled nose of the animal.

Three bells and a green light. Mostly everyone grins and Cecil put an encouraging arm on Carlos’ elbow.

“Well, ahem, Irish mongrels need to be fed this way to keep up their strength and nice hair. See?”

A dark hand scrapes against Earl’s hairline and then tugs tightly, feeding his cock into the wide mouth.

The pet tries to draw away, but Adam is behind him, eager to support his reputation. He helps Carlos control Earl’s head while pressing his boot under the humming tail still shaking inside of Earl’s ass. Cecil watches intently.

Carlos slides all the way into the hot, damp mouth, enjoying the feel of a desperate tongue trying to fight him. A deliciously dangerous thrill plummets to the bottom of his belly as teeth try and fail to push down, only slightly scraping his sensitive cock. Warm protests hum through the pretend-veterinarian. Then, Carlos draws out with exquisite slowness, letting Earl breathe, before he is shoving back in. Carlos feels the start of a gag reflex and adjusts his pace. Adam, on the other side, also assists. They control Earl completely. “Only by...nggg, doing...doing this regularly, does our little bastard understand his…place. With his trainer’s help, he’ll come to beg for this.”

Cecil attentively nods, eyes wide. Adam beams, pleased at their confidences in him and the growing promise of a sale. Earl blinks tearfully and moans in helpless disagreement, and this is what pushes Carlos over. He pulls out, letting himself cum against Earl’s face and tongue.

Their mongrel tries to cough, still posed as if begging while cum slips from his lips and drips from his chin.

"That was your dinner," Adam scolds, turning his mild scuffing at the sore ass into a small kick. “We’ve been over this, you brat. We can’t have you a mess for these nice men. You know I'll have to wash you again."

Earl flinches at the warning.

"I do like my pets to be clean," Cecil nods.

"Hygiene is very important," Carlos agrees as he fixes himself to look as professional as before.

"Can you show me how to do it?" Cecil asks, smiling knowingly at Adam.

"It's so nice to see someone so interested in the proper way of doing things," Adam appraises. He leans forward and unlatches the mittens from the collar.

Earl is unable to tumble away, pulled by a firm hand through the grime and mud as his potential buyers step out of the way. At the side of the house is a hose, and a metal loop is embedded into the ground. Earl drags his knees and resists as best he can, but soon Adam has his collar directly attached to the hook. It is awkward, Earl's neck forced to the ground where he kneels.

The rest of his body is shoved upwards, exposed. The angle promotes a view of the tail, which wags as if excited. A whine challenges their plans, though a few rings and a green light say otherwise.

Adam starts unwrapping the garden hose from its perch. He gets a length and slaps the sides of the mutt's ass and legs when the dog tries to find purchase.

"If you're not careful, he starts to hump at the ground," drawls the dog catcher.

"Ugh, disgusting," Cecil agrees.

"Do you use cold water?"

"It’s the most cost effective,” confirms Adam. “Also, it encourages him to behave and stay neat. I usually start with the ass."

"You are a very professional handler," Carlos beams. "You see, Cecil? This is someone you can trust to sell you proper stock."

"Oh yes, I can see that!" Cecil coos, clapping his hands together. "He's so assertive and powerful with this mongrel!"

"The trick with washing tails," Adam speaks, trying to distract himself from blushing, "is to get the mutt used to the presence of something..."

He pushes the tail further in and Earl rocks back to meet the pressure. Cecil peers over at the animal's face and it is flush with shame. He is trembling.

"And then, you clean up when he's ready for it," guesses the man in the kimono.

At that, Adam pulls the plug out and the sudden loss of pressure has the animal panting. His ass puckers and tenses at the sudden freedom, prostate aching for contact. His cock leaks but is unable to find purchase against anything without drastically moving. Adam plays with the nozzle of the hose, not the kind he'd prefer for penetrating -- too wide -- but future games will have better preparation. He knows that a direct application of pressurized water in an enema is unsafe, but the threat of it _will_ provoke Earl’s fetish for peril.

Instead, he runs the water on a light setting, letting it wash over the curve of the dog’s ass. The liquid slips over the loose crevice and trickles down his untouched balls.

The squeal of shock is a glorious sound. Adam curls his arm around Earl's thigh, hand calloused against the tender skin. "If he's very bad and particularly filthy, we can fill him with a peppermint mix or soap, and you plug that in until he begs and begs for a chance to be good."

Carlos' eyes darken at the suggestion. It's enough to make him become aroused again, watching the way Earl's freckled skin puckers under the assault of the water. He might be imagining it being cold. "They never do get used to being washed," he mumbles softly.

"So pretty," Cecil coos, stroking Earl's head. He smiles at the way the dog opens his eyes, whining around his gag at him, trying to plead for mercy. He wiggles his hips and tries and touch his cock on _something_.

Adam breaks from Earl's backside to pull the hose to his front. Offering no dignity, he splatters the face of the other, Earl gasping and squinting against the spray.

"You're the dirty dog who couldn't hold his supper," Adam scolds, while Carlos trades places to inspect the ass. He pulls out a glove and applies it loudly to his hand.

Earl is shivering, ripe with goosebumps. Water beads on his naked skin. He is thoroughly wet when Adam is done, his ears soggy and his hair dripping. He moans, as pathetic as he looks. Sterile fingers start to prod at his hole from his blind spot, tuning his sounds into indignant keens.

“I think he's clean enough for you to try feeding him, Cecil. And if he's messy in the end, we'll do this again."

“If so, you can try your hand with the hose, Sir.”

Cecil squeaks, delighted.

Carlos clears his throat, drawing his thumbs away from Earl’s entrance and testing the firmness of his thighs. "If he does poorly again at feeding, though, I think we should clean him out _completely_. A poor constitution could be blamed for his unruliness and loss of appetite."

The vet is looking at the hose and Earl's ass with interest. Adam considers. They had not discussed this before with the redhead, but even the threat has the animal trying hard not to fuck the ground. He will be sure to confirm with safewords if they get that rough, and he taps Earl’s nose fondly before he starts to unlatch the collar from the ground.

"Our esteemed client is going to sit nice in that lawn chair, there, and you're going to go over to him like a nice pup, and feed like you're grateful."

Cecil coos happily, skipping over to sit down primly in a plastic chair on steadier ground. He spreads his legs slowly as he opens his kimono. Naturally, Cecil wears nothing else underneath, confirming one of Adam’s guesses regarding the costume’s inspiration. The Voice poses elegantly with his cock hard and waiting for attention.

Earl mewls pathetically, his head bowed as he tentatively starts to crawl, cheeks burning in shame. He drools profusely.

Before the chair he stalls, and Cecil reaches forwards to encourage him. "Who is my good lil' doggy, hmm?"

Earl is resolutely not wanting to be that. But while his "trainer" has been rough, he expects this new stranger to pull him by the collar too. Instead, Cecil gathers Earl's hair and starts scratching at his skull and hairline. It's unexpected. It's nice. The mutt certainly doesn't want to enjoy this, but he leans in and soon finds his face pressed into a thigh. A warm thigh, where Earl's cheek is cold and wet.

He weeps, mouth still forced open. His lips are dry. He pants like the animal they say he is while firm fingers ply at his hair and tease at his skin.

"Does the doggy want a treat?" he is asked. He sniffles and knows that if he turns, two sets of dark eyes are watching -- waiting to plug him with water and leave him writhing and full. He'll have his erection whipped again and there will be the clamps, or the promise of other dogs mounting him.

This person seems nice, though. Earl carefully places his "paws" onto the edge of the chair and leans in. Only when he is close is he guided by the collar with some enthusiasm. Not rough, but inexperienced. And then he is fucked again.

"There we are...you're a good boy, aren't you?" Cecil purrs, praising Earl whenever he uses his tongue. "Yes...a good boy," groans the man, tilting his head back.

Earl whimpers around Cecil's cock, looking up at him through wet lashes. He uses his tongue more freely, wishing to make this buyer happy. He teases the cock as best he can with the lower ledge of his teeth and his hot tongue.

"He learns fast," Carlos notes.

“I catch the best,” Adam agrees, smugly.

When Cecil cums, Earl does his best to catch most of it -- well aware of his audience. He coughs, having difficulty swallowing with his jaw forced open. The sounds he makes as he tries are pathetic. The potential buyer ruffles at Earl's hair weakly. "Well, that...that was good. I want to do that daily."

"And as for customizable tails," Carlos murmurs, just within earshot.

"He'll be made to fit anything you'd like him to. I even have some insertions that are the same size as many types of dogs in case breeding becomes a thing your man would like to try."

"That sounds good. What do you think, Cecil?" Carlos inquires.

"I think he'd look beautiful with a nice thick tail! Maybe something fluffy and red like his hair!" Cecil dotes, absently stroking Earl's head and oblivious to the whines of protest.

"Is that the same one you packed in your bag?" Carlos smirks.

"I'll go fetch it right now," cheers Cecil, wrapping his kimono up and rising up with some recollected energy. "And then I want to sign the paperwork."

Adam grins, planning to fetch it from his kitchen table. He stops just before he leaves the yard, stepping over to tap Earl once on the nose. The redhead huffs, pressing his right button three times. Adam grins tightly, before fondly warning Carlos to be liberal with his punishments if the mutt wants to grind against anything.

Carlos flashes his perfect teeth in gratitude, before he meets Earl's open stare with his own narrowed eyes.

"Ah, must be hard," he notes, once the two are alone. "Life as a mongrel...you know, I'm against this. I don't like how you've impressed my patron. You may have found an generous home, but you haven't fooled or impressed me, you little bitch."

For the scientist, this is a carefully crafted monologue. He knows Adam is watching the electric box like a hawk, and that Cecil is hoping they can work scenarios without past influences damaging any of them. Carlos wants that, too. But he also wants to be...mean. Dangerous. Good.

Earl wants that too. The humiliation, and subjugation. He moans up at the perfect man in white, unable to communicate his circumstances. That he is a person, and not a pet. He is human, and not an animal. Unfairly captured and dehumanized. He needs to cum soon, and surely someone will be sane or kind enough to liberate him.

It’s a finely crafted scenario. Allowing the debasement, along with the safeties and respect. Carlos wants to rip parts of that away, though. He wants to kick Earl and pull the sun down on all of them. Instead, he reaches out and gently taps Earl’s nose.

His finger trembles.

Deep eyes peer up at his, appraising. A nod. Three buzzes and, if Carlos turns, a green light.

Trust.

Carlos takes a breath and then channels his rage into his role. No longer does he kindly observe. Rather, he looms over the animal and then pulls his collar roughly. "I don’t care where you came from. You’re nothing. And I know my companion. He gets bored easily. I look forward to when you’re no longer his plaything. I'll be there, every step of the way, you filthy creature. And I'll make sure you toe the line."

Earl gasps as he is led back to the chain by the hose. He fights but his knees can’t compete with the ground. His erection bumps against his thigh as he staggers and it is swollen.

"Found it!" sings Cecil from the gate.

"I'm going to lubricate it with something my clinic produces," murmurs Carlos so only the pet can hear. "It will burn and you better hope I spill none of it on your pretty little balls, mutt."

Cecil appears, triumphantly holding up the thick dildo with tail. Earl shakes his head and tries to draw away but the vet's expert hands are already cinching the collar to the ground, finding a spreader bar leaning against the wall with some of Adam’s other toys.

"This is a very good one for training," he showers with false praise. “I’ll lubricate it. Wouldn’t want to hurt our new friend.”

"Ah," Cecil exclaims. "I was worried it was too big.”

"I'm sure the good little dog can take it all in.” He pulls a bottle out of a pocket that Cecil had handed to him in the car. After liberally covering the shaft of the toy, he offers it back to his patron. “Did you want to do the honours?"

"Can I?" Cecil asks, petting at the shaking legs. "He's very..."

"Excited?" finishes Carlos. "Yes you are!"

Earl growls, so hard over the dynamic of evil vet and oblivious owner. He presses his right button four times by accident, fixated on how the dildo is coated in something secret. It is safe, he knows. But he can pretend. There is a warming factor to this brand and he will be left bucking and writhing in Adam's yard while the men "do the paperwork", likely watching from the inside window.

Oh Masters, Earl hiccups around his gag and is not sure if he will lose it before the end.

Cecil strokes Earl’s inner thigh with assurances, easing the tail in slowly. He coos encouragement as he feels Earl tense around it briefly before finally accepting it. "Oh doesn't he look darling? The perfect dog to keep me company!"

"I keep you company too..." Carlos says softly, playing up on his motivation.

"I've always adored pets!” gushes the brightly dressed man.

"I've got the paperwork!" Adam calls from the back door.

Immediately, Cecil releases his “adored pet” and bounds to his feet. Carlos shoots Earl a knowing look as his unrequited love heads inside, pushing the tail in further and giving it a twist before following after him.

Earl sob as he strains to struggle and buck. He could just imagine the agony if more of this were real. His cock dribbles profusely now, begging to cum despite the leather ring. He clenches his eyes tightly, rutting in the air. Trembling and drooling and howling.

Inside the house, Cecil kisses Carlos, reminding him that he is good. He's also incredibly sexy when he pretends to be otherwise. The radio host draws Carlos’ hand inside his kimono, murmuring that he would love to hear more ideas on how the vet could ensure a healthy pet.

Adam stands at the window, fondling himself with a tight smile. "I really think this is my new favourite."

"He'll probably last ten minutes," Carlos whispers. "Any longer and it'd be pushing it."

"I'll watch carefully," Adam promises. "I have a box installed on the table here, which will go off if he safewords. And if anything else changes, I'll go and confirm it. Otherwise, I'll announce to our pup in ten that he's got a new owner and that Carlos will pick him up tonight. The happy veterinarian in charge of the transportation and shots...think I'll let him cum as I fuck that ass."

"A reward for a job well done," Cecil giggles. “We can continue this with the dog show scenario.”

“Or the vet setting up the mongrel as a bad pet, requiring punishment and discipline,” Carlos hums, circling his palm around Cecil’s slit as he weaves other dangers for their Irish dog.

“I wouldn’t know what to do,” gasps the Voice. “Unable to explain why my attentions keep motivating bad behaviour. Especially with the competitions coming up.”

“I’ll have some other dogs by then,” Adam murmurs. “Sure he’d fall in line if he knew I’d put him in his place.”

Outside, Earl is struggling to keep his ass up to avoid rutting into the ground. He's imagining that he's being watched by more than his lovers -- people walking by and stopping to watch the pet suffer. He wails, twitching and pawing at the ground while his tail swishes left and right.

"Is he..." Carlos murmurs, not sure if he has overdone it.

Adam grins and waves him off. "He's fine. I know."

“After you fuck him,” Cecil fondly shares. “He might ask to lie in a cage, or keep his bondage gear on. Earl likes that. Maybe put him to sleep with promises of further danger.”

"That little bit of hope. The peril," chuckles Adam. "Bright kimonos and subplots of jealous veterinarians...I’m definitely glad I’m involved now.”

Cecil nibbles on Carlos' ear as they watch Earl twitch and mewl. Maybe five more minutes more...

"Oh just imagine it!" Cecil purrs into Carlos’ neck, happily. "I'd trust you completely, so you’d encourage deep dildos to make him soil my carpets, and then cock cages to prevent that kind of behaviour. He’d try to talk to reason with me, so you’d insist on silencing him. I’d come to you with my confusion and you’d start using the pet to get close to me…”

"A neverending cycle," Carlos sighs.

"And sometimes you think he gets so bad you have to call me in for support," Adam snickers. "I think I should go say my ‘goodbyes’. But, look at him, though. _Gods_."

Adam has yet to cum, just as disciplined as Earl is.

"Oh...do go and play with him!" Cecil huffs into his scientist’s clavicle as he toys with the sleeves of his kimono.

The trucker moves so Earl doesn't hear his approach until his ass is slapped. He stiffens, still trembling. He wails weakly, still bothered by his indignity. Still desperate for release.

"All the paperwork signed," Adam clucks his tongue. "Wow, what that fool thought you were worth. But you and I know that you’re nothing, dog..."

A nose tap encourages Earl to reply with a button. It takes a moment for the green lights to go off, assuring Adam that while willing, Earl is still almost at his limit.

Adam hefts the ginger’s leg up, the spreader bar still pushing his knees out. It forces the mutt’s face into the soft, muddy ground as a hand teases at the cock ring. Earl's tail is made to grind against Adam's body and he jostles his hips, wriggling with no purchase. Adam's hand is so close...

"I'm going to fuck you one last time, bitch. And then your helpful vet is going to come and make sure you're secure for transport. I imagine all the bells and whistles to keep you from running away. You'll get your shots, which will make sure you're always hard and horny. We'll see if we can get those vocal chords clipped. If the vet can convince his boss of it, though he's also gunning to remove that filthy tongue of yours. You might as well prove you're good with it, as that's the only way you'll keep it."

Earl grunts and cries, eyes streaming as he feels the tail twisting. Pushing in, than drawing slowly, agonizingly out. He's leaking and swollen around the damn ring. And then Adam's warmth is replacing it and the gloved hand pumps the cock ring loose.

From the kitchen window, Cecil and Carlos watch, mewling as they soon pull off their own clothes, pleasuring each other with handjobs while watching the scene play out in front of them. Cecil keens loudly as Carlos roughly grips him. The scientist is planning to push his lover against the fridge in a moment, once Earl is sated and safe. He wants to penetrate his darling once all attention is his again.

Earl screams once the ring is off. His sore and overly sensitive cock bounces with every thrust inside of him and he renders himself hoarse, tightening and trying to push back against Adam.

"Oh Early," the brunette groans. "I really wish I could have...fucked you like this...years ago...you're a needy sub and...you’re perfect..."

Earl cannot answer, unsure of where to let his thoughts centre. On the praise and admission of his old friend, and how flattering it is. On how he's still just a helpless man being treated like a beast, endlessly stranded here for the abuses of others. Gods, that's...that's hot. And he knows he's safe and appreciated. And dirty. He's so dirty.

Adam realizes that Earl should be spilling already. His hand is sliding tight around the cock. He can feel the heat of Earl, both around his own member and in his hand. Something clicks. It is almost as if the redhead waits for permission to finish, and Adam loves him for it.

"Early," gasps the brunette. Like a command given to a pet, he says, "cum," and the other wails as he rattles through an orgasm.

Adam's waits, though not for long. His mind is moving, thinking that perhaps this isn't the first time he's seen Earl wait. Commands are nice and it plays into a scenario beautifully, but...but that's not normal, is it? He wonders, but then makes himself return from grim speculation. This is _their_ moment. This is _his_. And he shelves the concern for later discussion as he revels in the flush and freckled skin, and muddy body of his lover, cumming in Earl with exquisite urgency.

Earl trembles and tightens around Adam, panting heavily as he's fucked through his orgasm. Then he softly whines, blushing as he pictures what he must look like -- face in soft mud, hands in mittens, and body bound.

"Aah..." His eyes flutter half-closed, stare glassy.

He is gently lowered, and then Adam shuffles over to kneel next to Earl's head. A hand parts hair back, petting the other fondly.

"Want to lie here, or have me drag my former pet to the cage?"

Earl's lips twitch.

Carefully, Adam disentangles the gag forcing Earl's lips wide and the ginger remoisturizes his tongue and teeth, before sighing, "I want to sleep in your lap."

"Aw, as if that'll save you," Adam teases, unlatching the hook from the collar and lifting Earl's spent form to his thighs.

Earl curls up against him, closing his eyes. He mewls softly, pawing at him before relaxing, “You are good," he mumbles, nuzzling him tenderly.

Adam chuckles. "Guess I'll have to try harder then."

Inside the house, something crashes to the floor with force enough to rattle the windows. Adam thinks faintly of how that might be the billboard that dominates his kitchen table. He sighs, uncaring. After an awkward pause, Cecil’s nervous laughter mocks the mess.

“Sorry we’re a bunch of dorks,” Earl mumbles.

“Mmm,” Adam hums. “In a moment I’ll drag out the snacks I left in the fridge, _if_ it’s still accessible. You’ll love it. I found granola bars shaped like dog bones. And then you can lie in my lap in the bathtub.”

“Then nap in the cage, and ride home with Carlos,” sighs Earl. He presses his safe button a few times before muttering, “Woof.”

Inside the house, something else breaks.


	4. The Evolution (and Breakdown) of a Scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A scene unexpectedly comes to life. It takes a few drafts. It devolves into sex and chaos. Learning curves...

The city falls in a shower of stone and fire and sharpened metal. A groan comes from falling towers. The twang of bowstrings unleashing disturb the air. A stifled cry that finally escapes a shuddering chest. Earth rising. Dust bustling. Bodies brave and broken.

There is nothing the Eternal Scout can do. Nothing he could have done in the end, as invading forces finally sweep through the fortified walls. They take the city, clearing the streets block by city block. House by house.

The Scout is bloody and bruised himself when he is finally thrown to his knees at the foot of the invader’s own Eternal Scout. Adam is smiling, cleaning his curved dagger of gore before reaching down and grabbing a fistful of Earl’s hair to draw his head back, locking eyes with him.

“This took far longer than it needed to,” he hisses. “And I suspect we have _you_ to thank for that, hmmm?”

Earl tries not to flinch under that gaze. Hiis wrists are bound behind him. He can only meet that curved grin as Adam adjusts his grip briefly on red hair.

The powerful man is looking around. “Your people are going to suffer for your interference in my work. Every single one.”

“Leave them alone...”

“Make it worthwhile for me,” Adam challenges.

Earl pales, knowing exactly what he means when he sees Adam begin to undo the leather straps of his armor, exposing himself to him. “Perhaps if their Eternal Scout performs well one last time they'll be spared...”

Everyone is watching. A crowd is being gathered, pushed along by Adam’s forces into the street beneath the ginger’s last hiding spot. Earl's eyes flicker about and he blushes involuntarily when he sees that enemy and ally alike are watching, forced or willing to spectate as Adam presses the head of his cock to Earl's lips. Those not leering have been his friends. Many are his comrades in arms, looking as horrified as he feels.

But they’ll die. Earl could bite down or keep fighting, and they’ll _all_ die. Or he could have his face fucked by this possessive other.

He whimpers in shame as his own cock twitches awake. Then he shuts his eyes tightly as he opens his mouth, allowing Adam to use it.

 

\--

 

Earl shifts on the sofa. His face is a darkening flush.

Adam leans over Cecil's shoulder with a crooked grin on his features. He hangs on every word, only interrupting to say, "The armour should look less like leather and more like...I have a photo on my phone, one sec…” He fumbles for the device, side-longing to Earl, “This is just like our childhood War Games badge, Early. Only _better_."

The Scoutmaster shakes his head. "We were _eight_ when we got that badge. You were in love with Lily Creedance, remember?"

Adam waves that off, returning his attentions to their writer. "I want my conqueror to pull his prize all the way up to the top of his cock, and then he holds him there."

"Demonstration?" Cecil asks, almost innocently.

Earl blushes a brighter red and narrows his eyes, silently daring Adam to even try it.

"I think I'll have to win another round," smirks the brunette. 

"Oooh, I will help!" Cecil cheers, sitting up higher in his chair as he begins to use his Voice. 

"Cecil, you're cheating!" pouts Earl. He still slides off of the couch.

The radio host shrugs one shoulder wickedly. His words start to unwind, reminding Earl that he is worn from a prolonged siege. How he is outnumbered and, while valiant, unable to outclass this one very determined opponent.

Earl's breathing grows heavier, his body starting to tense in places. It grows heavy in others. His face becomes drawn. Under the spell, he sees the fall of their defenses as if he remembers it and _wants_ to forget. The desperately fortified walls break his heart as they breach. Each step back from the lines is a blow to his soul. He accounts for smaller, more personal and recent battles now. He wins the first scuffles cleanly, but then he starts to take hits. Small nicks or blunt strikes caught in less protected places. It all comes down to this final, penultimate scene...

 

\--

 

He sees Adam, standing in...oh, hey, that really _is_ cool armour! Oh, but I’ll make this part black. With a big whip coiled here on your side. Yes, the feather _is_ included. It’s the biggest, most indigo feather in the land. Sorry, we’re losing Earl. Let’s try again.

 

\--

 

He sees Adam as he is braced against a wall. The rival Eternal Scout is backlit by fire. There is the biggest imaginable feather pluming behind him. The heat makes it waver and…maybe no feather? Don’t laugh at my costume ideas! Are you going to do this every time? _Ugh_ , okay. Once more…

 

\--

 

He sees Adam as he is braced against a wall under one of the last standing houses. From a narrow angle, line of sight allows for the town’s defender to see the impressively armed soldier with a moderately sexy feather hanging over black and silver armour. The whip is unused, as of yet, but it bounces against the invader’s side as if eager for a chance to prove itself. The authority and the broad shoulders of this inexhaustible and imposing figure leaves Earl’s stomach dropping out from under him. What colour is the sky above you?

“Earl?”

“Nnnnh?"

“What colour is the sky.”

“Some stars and smoke?”

“We should have started with safewords Cecil.”

“ **Stop**.”

 

\--

 

He sees Adam as he is braced against a wall under one of the last standing houses. Shadows tease the grime from his face -- shades of muted ruby blood and streaks of black ash paint the town’s defender as a man besieged by emotions. From a narrow angle, line of sight allows for Earl to see the impressively armed soldier with an incredibly sexy feather over black and silver armour. Adam has finally found the right street to stalk, his whip, not yet used yet ready for the chance, bounces against his side. The authority and the broad shoulders of this inexhaustible and imposing figure leaves Earl’s stomach dropping out from under him. What colour is the sky above you?

Dry lips wet. “Olive,” Earl murmurs, hoping he does not give away his position with the concession he can’t help making.

The Voice orders him to comply with a safeword. His mind remembers its internal checks before he continues. The scene is easy to fall back into.

Earl knows he will have to fight this man. He’s known it for as long as the town had first been targeted. He will not shy from this confrontation, though. He will be brave and clever. He will be valiant and justified. 

**“You don’t believe it, but you will lose.”**

Earl grasps his sword and steps out from his shelter, tattered uniform looking pathetic in comparison with his enemy’s attire. Adam is taller and bigger. Meaner and hungrier.

“Kneel and beg.”

Earl breathes in. Then out, composing himself. “ _No_.”

 

\--

 

They lose a bookshelf. A potted plant is knocked loose from its perch on the window, the poor leaves start attempting to drag the flora and its clumping dirt away from the fighting soldiers. Cecil’s prized RoyalTone Instant Sound radio dances as the wall jostles from the force of two bodies colliding with it. Earl howls and hisses, Adam often has to pry fingers from sensitive places like his eyes or secret-kill-points. It is this kind of struggle that Adam respects, and also craves, but even he is surprised by how vicious Earl is in this fantastical fight. Fortunately, the brunette has the advantage. Every strike that passes through his considerable defenses is less harmful than it should be. Perhaps it is the Voice, telling Earl that his hits are less consequential. Or, it is the Voice telling Adam that he is well armoured and impervious.

Cecil has only recently started to employ his gift for personal ventures. They are learning how to work with their scenarios becoming more believable. They are trying to make the experience as safe as possible. In a sense, this is an experiment.

And speaking of masters of experiments…

The door to the study opens, announcing the arrival of the town’s favourite scientist. Carlos balances a box of printed data sheets as he bumps his way in. He stops when he discovers that he is intruding upon a scene --

Earl is entangled, his arms wrenched behind him and Adam entwining a limb around the ginger’s throat. His chin squeezes down as he is held up by brute body force. An erection presses against his jeans and he is panting.

“Carlos!” greets the radio host. “You’re just in time! You’re an army of people. Some are soldiers and some are beleaguered civilians. This display is very public and very mandatory, whether you are one of Adam’s men, or brought here by them. Oh, and Earl, the fight is gone from you.”

The redhead squeaks through a crushed airway, instantly slackening and feeling himself slip to his knees. The arm embracing his neck lets go to claw at his scalp. “What colour should I beat you for this petty display of insolence?”

“You bastard,” Earl keens. “Ol...olive.”

Carlos’ eyebrows ascend to his hairline but he sets the box on the sofa and becomes very attentive. “Dare I even ask?”

"They're helping me write another story!" Cecil chirps. “We didn’t think you’d be home so soon, and this sort of was unexpected.” 

"Ah, well, crisis at the lab sent everyone home,” murmurs the scientist. “Can the watchers participate if they find themselves...inclined?"

Adam grins. "I always take care of my soldiers."

"I think you’re back at the scripted part,” Cecil notes, snatching the first page he had been at work upon. “ Where were we...Adam, you say ‘this took far longer than it needed to...’"

 

\--

 

“This took far longer than it needed to,” the triumphant Eternal Scout hisses. “And I suspect we have _you_ to thank for that, hmmm?”

Earl tries not to flinch under that gaze. Hiis wrists are bound behind him. He can only meet that curved grin as Adam adjusts his grip briefly on red hair.

The powerful man is looking around. “Your people are going to suffer for your interference in my work. Every single one.”

“Leave them alone...” 

“Make it worthwhile for me,” Adam challenges. 

Earl pales, knowing exactly what he means when he sees Adam begin to undo the leather straps of his armor, exposing himself to him. “Perhaps if their Eternal Scout performs well one last time they'll be spared...”

Everyone is watching. A crowd is being gathered, pushed along by Adam’s forces into the street beneath the ginger’s last hiding spot. Earl's eyes flicker about and he blushes involuntarily when he sees that enemy and ally alike are watching, forced or willing to spectate as Adam presses the head of his cock to Earl's lips. Those not leering have been his friends. Many are his comrades in arms, looking as horrified as he feels.

But they’ll die. Earl could bite down or keep fighting, and they’ll _all_ die. Or he could have his face fucked by this possessive other.

He whimpers in shame as his own cock twitches awake. Then he shuts his eyes tightly as he opens his mouth, allowing Adam to use it.

 

\--

 

Many of Earl's stories involve the protagonist being made to choose his punishment. There is something psychological to it, forcing the character to be implicit in his own breakdown. Adam is very protective of his troop and finds _this_ intriguing. He would let no one else -- save for Cecil or Carlos -- demand such things from Earl.

Adam tells his captive to choose how to pleasure him. He could even use his hands. It makes Earl's decision that much better -- settling for the more degrading oral act over something simpler. Adam cups his grip around the back of Earl's head, his other hand stroking his Eternal rival like some kind of dog. Earl fights back, but with uncharacteristic meekness. Adam slaps a freckled cheek, well aware of their audience. Earl is aware, too. He whines a muffled sound against...oh, the underside of...

Adam starts to push in against Earl's face, remembering vaguely about a plan he had been trying to describe to their narrator.

Carlos’ eyes are becoming hazy at the display. He is immensely glad that the morning’s experiments had escaped as they had, provoking an evacuation and homework.

Especially as Cecil’s Voice is so...

“The warrior has more control than his prey, who squirms against his own hardening arousal helplessly. His wrists remain behind him. The victorious Adam lets the doomed Scout create his desired pace, before testing the efforts and finding them...lacking. He takes over for the worthless prize, impaling the other’s mouth with a firm, long push in. The end of his cock presses against the back of his new slave's throat. He holds them there, relishing the knowledge that this one is his. He has earned Earl and he is not bound to keep any promises he has made. He will possess this wretch in every imaginable way. He will only let the witnesses live, forcing the ginger Scout to watch the village burn even after his subjugation.” 

"You thought you had a chip to bargain with,” Adam rumbles. Or, perhaps, Cecil says this and everyone hears the brunette’s thick voice. “Your offers mean nothing. We only ever came here for you and I want the nation to hear of this."

Earl whimpers more freely now, already grieving the fictional people he couldn't preserve. He tries to save them by being exceptional at the current task. He curls his tongue and holds back the gag reflex as he hums, staggering his breathing. He knows -- he doesn’t know -- that it will be of no use. The deceit and cruelty of this invader makes him harder, though. The peril that he is under… 

Carlos finds himself trying to control both a sensation of dread and lust. His emotions are mixing around, confusing him. He's playing several people; doomed and wicked alike. On one hand, he is terrified that he will watch this monstrous man drag away the bold soldier who had protected them, rendering Earl’s humanity into a joke. Then Carlos’ home will burn and he will be left to explain his broken life and traumatic memories to outsiders, reporting the fate of the ginger.

On the other hand, he loves the humiliated sounds that he has helped create by outlasting a persistent town’s defenses. He has heard stories of this ginger and the rumours are finally coming true. The little whore chose to swallow cock and will look all the more beautiful as he pales and coughs pathetically in the flickering flames of his adopted home.

In both cases, Earl remains noble in intent, outclassed by a ruthless opponent. Displayed and desired. What thoughts Carlos can spare for analysis, those are spent admiring the nuanced levels at play. Earl’s love of being dismantled and dominated, but in a safe environment. Adam’s urge to control and conquer. Carlos’ fascination with…

With being helpless.

With being mean.

He...he doesn’t know.

It is at this moment that the acrid scent of ozone starts to permeate the room. Smoke starts to rise from the box of paperwork.

Cecil’s Voice stops immediately, the radio host uncertain if he had created the new situation by talking of fires. Adam, still deeply driven into the swollen lips of his prize, snaps out in time to see a laser-eyed rat scramble over the lip of the cardboard box and hiss. Adam twists so the unaware Earl is shielded. The ginger becomes even more entranced by the reality of background flames.

“Get it--”

“Stop!” 

And Carlos decides he is a soldier after all. His concerned commander barks an order and Carlos, snagging the stand-up lamp, smashes it down onto the creature. It must have escaped his lab by hiding in the box. It squeaks, stunned. The scientist shudders back into present concerns.

“We should…”

“A break.” 

**“Earl, you’re home now. Unbound. Yourself.”**

Mismatched eyes blink rapidly, and then pupils peer up as Adam slowly withdraws his member.

Coughing consciously, the brunette moves to put himself away, but freckled fingers reach up. “I’ve got this.”

 

\--

 

One fire extinguisher later -- “I’m so glad we got rid of that distinguisher. Yes, we know it’s a fire. It was a fire last time, and the time before that, too!” -- the men sit at the kitchen table eating cold tortilla soup and plotting while they await on one of Carlos’ assistants to pick up the dazed specimen.

"Maybe the warrior, after he reduces the village to dust and displaces the poor witnesses, he plans for how to transport his new toy across the vast distance to his homeland."

Earl swirls his spoon around the soup. “But would you and Carlos just...be soldiers? I’m okay with that, by the way.”

“It does make the scene tedious after a few sessions of it,” Cecil admits. “Oh, well, Carlos and I can play gods! We’ll arrive in the night to release the slave if he truly desires his freedom.”

Adam cocks a brow. “Which he won’t?”

Earl glances away, shrugging a shoulder as his face colours.

“I think my new pet likes the attention,” chuckles the brunette. “But perhaps that takes time. A bit of investment. Going back to the burning village, I’d like to see myself cumming across that pale, little face. And then I’d turn it to face those around us. Early is still on his knees, and I’ll kneel to his level only to cut my dagger into his pants. Let everyone see how much he enjoyed that.”

Earl slides his socked feet together under the table, knees touching and pinks growing on his cheeks. His stomach drops when Adam adopts a gruff tone to say, “Let them see what you are, animal. You can’t save them. You’re only good for one thing.”

“I know we discussed not all of us being soldiers fucking poor Earl,” whispers Cecil. “But I think, as soon as the rat goes away, we all go to the playroom so I can...get this scene down. You know, for writing. I’d be a pretty clever soldier under your command, and after you fuck his face, I’d be wishing for the same opportunity.”

“Cumming on him, while others watch? All of us getting our satisfaction save for the filthy cock of this unwilling toy?” Adam chuckles, well aware of how Earl is trying not to wriggle into his seat. “Scene building is fun.”

“And I can make it so Earl believes no time has passed,” Cecil whispers. “If, if that’s fine for you?” 

The ginger swallows, nodding earnestly. “It’s...it’s more than fine.”

“And we’ll work on safewords. I’ll do that with the Voice first. So you never forget, even if it’s intense.”

“Fair enough,” Earl agrees. “It’s...I trust you, Cecil. Unequivocally. And because of that, everything...everything is believable. Carlos, you’ve been quiet this whole time.”

Carlos pokes at the chips in his bowl, soggy and changing into something unrecognizable. He sometimes wonders if he does the same. “I...I dunno. It was good, what we were doing. And I’m fascinated with how I subdued the rat. Not as a scientist. Not as...me. But as one of Adam’s men. I just...I don’t know if I was enjoying Earl’s domination because of...other reasons.”

“We don’t have to do anything,” Adam offers. 

“I don’t want you to stop on my account,” counters Carlos. “Maybe we do the playroom, and I will be a person from town. And I can try to stop you?”

“After we cum on him and offer to leave his cock hard and leaking while we prepare to round up survivors to harm --”

“-- Carlos interrupts that, desperate to save the poor Eternal Scout and the village.”

 

\--

 

The Words come more freely. Cecil wonders why he had been so afraid of using the Voice outside of work, before. He establishes a Command, telling all present to remember their rules and safeties, no matter the direction of the scene at hand. If Earl gets overwhelmed, he will immediately snap free of the fantasy and communicate his need.

Then the walls are repositioned. The street becomes crowded. The ginger regains his worn posture and without rope, believes himself bound. A reminder brings his cock to hardness anew.

Words slip into Adam’s ear, giving him a taste for earlier arousal. He perfects the facial fucking he had first described, dragging Earl’s skull to his groin and mocking the helpless figure for his compliance in this deed. 

And Carlos watches the whole thing, remembering the brave voice of the Eternal Scout promising to do everything to save the town. Cecil stands behind the villager, holding him back as Adam thrusts aggressively into the one who had dared challenge his assault. Then, nearly sated, he draws out to spill warm cum across Earl’s lips and cheeks.

“Oh, you belong this way,” he praises in a throaty voice. 

Earl inhales shakily, trying to duck his head away while Adam cups his chin in gloved hands. A thumb smears his seed against fluch freckles.

“Look at them,” continues the cruel commander. “Maybe they think you deliberately failed so you could taste real cock. I bet you couldn’t sleep all those nights with us outside the walls. You are a natural on your knees. Was it easy lying to these townies? Telling them you’d be able to save them?” 

“I thought…” Earl whispers. “You’d spare them if…” 

“You’d believe anything if it had you used so thoroughly,” Adam teases, slapping Earl’s cheek. “I always planned to leave this place a smear on the maps. But because you put on such a good show, I think you deserve some legacy. I’ll spare the witnesses in the square. They’ll be free to tell the world of your pathetic hunger.”

Earl tries to jerk his head away. It results in his hair being pulled as Adam’s grip tightens. “They’ve...ah, they’ve done nothing to you.”

“They’ve welcomed you in, you whore. I’ve heard of you, Scout. A redheaded pretender who gets more attractive the more he is bound. And you love it.”

“No…” 

“Colour?” 

“Olive,” Earl swallows. “No...you’re...you’re wrong. You’ve got the wrong per --” 

Earl’s head is forced sidelong again. Under the spell, he sees shapes. He sees dozens circling, eyes wide and either pitiful, or hungry. Leers, lust, and lamentation.

Carlos’ eyes are dark and Cecil parts his lips, wishing this dialogue were being recorded

Adam kneels, his free glove manipulating a pocket knife that shines silver in reflected light. He taps the cold side of the weapon against Earl’s chin playfully, before it traces the seam over the bulge of Earl’s pants.

“You are a slut who enjoys this,” Adam murmurs. “And I want those present to see that.”

With skill, he breaks the fabric dangerously close to skin. The musk of want is everything Adam had hoped for these last few weeks. Earl mewls as his cock finds unexpected freedom after such an act of peril.

When Cecil chuckles, Earl hears a crowd reacting. Vicious laughter, and hesitant gasps. There will be men and women who might now believe in the accusations of the conqueror. That Earl had brought this upon them through deliberate weakness.

“I didn’t think you’d be _this_ hard,” tuts Adam.

“Take me,” Earl sobs quietly. “Please, just...just don’t hurt them.” 

“Oh, you still think negotiations involve you?” Adam coos. He rises again, a figure looming over the kneeling ginger with his head upheld by his hair. “Tell you what. My right-hand-man recommended this chase to me. I’m very glad he did. If your mouth is as good a fuck to him, as you were to me, I will still destroy this village. All those who did not witness your wantonness will still die, but I’ll refrain from torturing those in this square who watched.”

Earl glares, his outrage amusing his captors further.

“Very well, then. I’ll have them whipped first, and after fifty lashes, they can sit on the whip handles, deep in their…”

_“No!”_

“Oh, it’s a fate you’ll certainly see when you return to my kingdom. Your audience should know what you face, and also, that you’re deviancy means you’ll enjoy it far more than they would.”

“Don’t…” Earl pleads. “I’ll...I’ll submit.”

“And I was looking forward to the whipping,” Cecil sighs, patting Carlos gamely before he slips closer to his commander.

“I always take care of my own,” Adam assures. “There will be plenty of other opportunities to lash leather against flesh. Now, he’s promised to be a good face to fuck.”

Cecil strokes the front of his pants. “You’re very generous, Sir. I’m as pleased as you are that the legends were true. He’s leaking!”

“I see that,” Adam agrees. “If I weren’t so tight on this scalp, I’m certain he’d be fucking the ground right now.”

Earl’s face can not fill with any more crimson. He stares up at them with abused lips. A stolen glance at Carlos encourages Earl to open his jaw. He slips his tongue over his lower lip in a bitter act of invitation.

“Such respect from a fucktoy,” Cecil says, sliding his member out and placing it on that tongue tip.

A tap on the nose invites Earl to glance up. He nods, mumbling, “Olive,” as he licks the bottom of Cecil's erection.

Then his face is penetrated again under the eyes of an imagined crowd. Earl’s wrists remain crossed over his back and as he starts to shift his hips, Cecil plants his foot between Earl’s knees, knocking them wider with a strict nudge. “Focus on _me_ , you wretch.”

Earl whines, a vulnerably open sound that makes Cecil throw his head back. It provokes Adam’s insides to pitch down, and triggers tears in Carlos’ gaze. A moment further and Cecil pulls out, pumping himself once to add to the canvas of the poor Eternal Scout’s face. He staggers back, sated and happy. “Gods, that was...that…”

“That’s a perfect acquisition,” concludes Adam. “Apply the cock cage. I want him kneeling on the hill as the city burns and he’ll cum before we get that much prepared. He can have his needs tended to once he can hear the screams of those he’s betrayed…”

“Please,” Earl repeats, unable to rise and challenge them. His face gleams.

Cecil drops onto a mattress and murmurs of the lethargy clinging to the redhead’s frame. How around the four of them, the world transforms into soldiers arranging survivors into two groups. Those recently captured, who will stay. And those who had witnessed Adam’s presentation, now free to leave unscathed.

Carlos doesn’t follow his relieved neighbours. He drops down before Earl, taking a cloth from his pocket to wipe at the defeated Scout’s face. “It’s not your fault,” he murmurs. “I don’t believe it’s your fault.”

The guards around laugh, mocking the one civilian who shows kindness. Carlos clears away what he can as Earl drops his head, leaning into the touch as dark fingers massage an abused scalp. Earl’s cock still bobs through torn fabric. 

“If you want…” Carlos asks in a whisper.

“Please,” whimpers Earl.

The cloth drops down, the lone villager promising that he will get help for their brave protector. That he will not forget what pains Earl took to defend them. His offer, both verbal and physical, is cut short when Adam grabs Carlos by his collar and pulls him away. The act appears rough, but does no harm.

“Yes, give him hope. I’ll fuck that out of him too,” growls the aggressor. 

Carlos bunches the soiled cloth in a fist. “You can’t do this!”

“I think we already have,” Cecil drones, hefting up Earl with more strength than he would normally own without his Voice. Earl tries to shy away but he is bodily jerked into obedience. He still fully believes his wrists tied. Cecil murmurs now about ankles manacled together. And now, an invisible cock cage is tightened over Earl’s erection.

Eyelashes flutter closed. A mournful moan tries to stifle itself.

“Go on,” Adam snaps to Carlos. “Unless you want to stay with your doomed home, take what you saw here and leave.”

Carlos swallows. “I would stay with him.”

“Everyone’s after a piece of my prize,” Adam sighs.

“No,” Carlos protests. “I don’t mean _that_.”

“You’re being offered your freedom,” Cecil sneers. “It’s that, or death. If you want to come with us so badly, that’s a lifetime of servitude.”

“And my tastes are very singular,” Adam adds. “I won’t waste food on an unwanted body. If you want death so much…”

Earl cries out as Adam reaches for his whip.

Cecil slaps Earl’s ass in warning, but the larger man pauses from attacking the defiant townsperson.

"I am a flexible soldier," addends Adam. "Maybe I could change my fancies." He turns to Cecil. "Strip him."

Cecil knocks Earl onto his knees again, before boldly stepping forward. “And what colour do villagers wear beneath their clothes?” he asks Carlos.

Carlos considers the odd, abrupt question. "Violet," he finally says.

"Remember your safeword," Cecil whispers into Carlos’ ear.

Carlos nods before he is tensing under the other soldier's touches. The cloak -- once a labcoat -- is slipped free. His shirt follows, and then the loop of his belt. When his large girth is exposed, Adam whistles.

Carlos blushes, bowing his head in mock shame. He suddenly recalls some of their old sessions. The ones from before the Smiling God, and how much it pleased him to be praised for his body.

"It seems this place hid two treasures then..." grants the conquering Eternal Scout.

"I could see myself whipping that," confesses Cecil.

"No!" Earl exclaims. 

"No?" Adam asks. "You are promising to be a waste of my time, puppet. Perhaps I should find uses for _him_ instead."

"I’ll... _please_...I’ll be good..."

Adam raises a brow. "We know your mouth is good..."

Earl pales beautifully as he realizes what is coming next. Cecil pins Carlos' arms behind his back, reaching around to stroke at his front. He forces Carlos to spread his legs further, showing him off for Earl. “If our initiate slave wants to prove how cooperative he can be…”

Carlos tries to pull away from the touch, causing Cecil to ask once more for safeword confirmation. He gets it, and then tightens his hold. “You’ll fuck him. You’ll ride that ass raw, and maybe I’ll have the whole town spared. Not because of the worthless Eternal Scout, but because of you.”

“Are you making deals without my input?” Adam calls out.

“I would like to keep this one...Sir,” admits Cecil. “He’s...fetching. Look at this hair."

"You are my most devious," Adam praises of Cecil. "Then how about this -- if your prize makes this man scream for more of him, then I will _only_ torch this place. But if our failure here doesn’t rock back on every one of your thrusts, I'll slaughter every person before him and his erection."

Carlos swallows, matching eyes with the man on his knees. Earl nods. “Do it. If it saves everyone..."

Adam takes Earl’s head and bows it into the earth. Then he tells Earl he is releasing his cock from the cage. "I know you love this, slut. Don't cum before he does or I'll make your hungry cock find what it needs among the dead."

Earl mewls, doubled over and exposed for Carlos’ large cock.

“Last words?” Cecil asks, pulling lubricant out from one of the room’s drawers and squeezing a generous amount into his hands. He tosses the bottle to Adam when he is done.

“Violet,” Carlos murmurs, standing still as his penis is stroked with familiar hands.

“Olive,” Earl gasps, feeling cold gel against his ass.

Carlos is close, and as he sees fiery backdrops and dust trodden streets, he is not sure of what elements are setting him closer. It is confusing. The staged rape is offputting now that he is involved, but he also remembers enjoying something very much like this.

There is a Voice.

There are two…

One paints the scene, and reminds Carlos that he is loved. That he is safe and that Earl wants this. That he can stop at any point and reassess safewords. That Earl will answer, and if Earl does not answer to confirm his agreement, the scene will end _immediately_. Carlos smells woodsmoke and steel. He tastes dry air and blood. He knows a valiant soldier has come to them to protect Carlos’ home, and now Carlos is participating in something awful in order that Earl should not suffer alone.

Earl _cannot_ suffer alone. 

Earl had once suffered alone. And it had been Carlos’ fault.

There is a Voice. 

It tells him that he is not to blame. That he is good. That he is _very_ good. That he deserves this.

It might not be...Cecil’s Voice. 

Carlos says "Violet" again to assure himself. To assure the others. He latches onto the idea that he is not taking Earl by choice. His head hurts. Carlos is led to the crumpled form of the prisoner and Cecil starts to breathe into Carlos’ neck. Teeth against his skin makes him shiver. Fingers start to play with his hair.

"I will have you stretched out on my bed," Cecil promises. "I'm much nicer than my commander. You can have comforts."

Carlos half-lids his gaze. He feels more than sees Earl’s ass. It is perfectly placed, providing a sweet resistance as it takes in his length. Carlos whines as heat presses around him. Then he slowly tips his hips forward as Earl adjusts, and pushes back. The sensation of Cecil's warm breath ghosting over his neck is possessive.

He drops his head back, certain that if he rolls his eyes, he might see a smile overtaking Cecil’s features. And no eyes looking bac --

_**DANGER.** _

Carlos gasps. He blinks as his Outsider mind tries to place his surroundings. The context is broken. He is in a basement, where they play sex games. But he doesn’t like the playroom anymore. Cecil is going to dismantle it. Carlos is not allowed to talk about Earl, because Kevin has him. And Kevin has plans. And it’s Carlos’ fault. The village is burning and if he doesn’t fuck the noble knight he admires, he will never see him again. Earl will be gone forever. Adam kneels at Earl’s head, grinding it into the carpet and promising how perfect of an offering he will be for the Smiling God. What good pets they all ar--

The sound of metal on bone echoes oddly off the walls and ceiling of the basement room. In the pocket of silence that follows, Carlos knows he has done something very important.

He stopped raping Earl. He’s knocked the Voice back with an elbow. And he’s attacked the man responsible for sacking his beloved town.

Earl shifts, recalling that he has full use of his arms. Confused, he braces on the ground, peering up at his rescuer. “Carlos?”

“Run,” Carlos presses. “I’ll come for you, run!”

“St...stop. **Stop!** ” Cecil gasps, holding a bloody nose.

From the floor by the television, Adam groans.

 

\--

 

Not all experiments are successful, but even the worst ones impart some knowledge.

“I need to be more careful with the Voice,” Cecil identifies, softly speaking as he holds out an ice pack. His present voice is not charged with power, but rather, it is muffled by the tissues stuffed up his nostrils.

Adam takes the homemade bag of cold, applying it to the bump on his head. “Maybe just with Carlos. Earl snapped out of it immediately, and that surprised me. I think he controls when your Voice has _him_.”

“How about yourself?” Cecil asks.

Adam shrugs. “I should have been paying more attention to Carlos. That’s my job, right? That’s why I’m here? Throw in a clause later to make that a priority before any of our themes, I guess...”

“You’re here because you want to fuck up Earl. I think we’re all here for that,” Cecil ruefully gives.

“You know, I never would have expected Carlos had it in him to hit so hard.” 

“He thought he was protecting Earl, which...is kind of sweet.”

Adam nods, wincing at the action. “Yeah, usually he’s doing the opposite when he’s not himself. So perhaps this is an improvement?”

The pair share a step on the stairwell by the kitchen. Above, Earl nuzzles into Carlos who dozes. If all is right, the scientist is having his dreams divide the fact from the fiction. After recent re-educations, the Secret Police Officer with the prettiest of the department’s dresses had suggested Cecil try his Voice with sleep therapy.

Carlos’ confusion had lessened the moment Earl had curled into him.

The pair of Doms sit in silence for some time, considering.

“I think we should wait until Carlos is awake before you decide on whether or not to quit with the Voice,” Adam eventually says. “It’s only our second time, and we didn’t plan this as well as we could have. Earl certainly likes the effect of your ability, and I am looking forward to him experiencing some of the more...impossible fantasies.”

Cecil shrugs a shoulder. “I suppose. I just don’t want to be responsible for hurting anyone."

“Carlos hit me with a spreader bar,” Adam reminds. “You’re carrying way more guilt than he is.”

The radio host tilts his head, shrugging. Then he snickers. “If only someone in the town had figured out your secret weakness."

“For that, I’m going to reconsider the value I place on my second-in-command,” mutters the truck driver.

“You can reconsider after you pick the ice out from the back of your shirt."

“What?” Adam scoffs.

**“When it is held by cheeky Doms, the bag of ice breaks."**

“If you wanted to know what constitutes as an abuse of po-- _ah!_ You little _shi--”_

Upstairs, Earl rolls his eyes as he hears thundering feet tramping about below. Something falls and breaks.

“Our sessions can’t always end this way,” he sighs fondly.

 

 


	5. And Now For Your Regularly Scheduled Smut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A billboard is given a new job
> 
> Cecil debuts on television
> 
> Adam and Carlos work together
> 
> Earl's throat becomes very sore

Adam steps off the footstool, scowling at the level that tells him that his project is crooked. He cocks his head, disappointed in his tools for failing him. It’s possible the corner of the playroom is affected by some temporal field anomaly. He hesitates to mention it aloud in case Carlos decides to study it, which will interrupt their upcoming playtime.

He fondles the handle of his power drill, firmly set into his toolbelt.

“Oh!” comes praise from behind him. “That’s…”

“Crooked,” Adam sighs.

“I was going to say it looks good,” Cecil counters, stepping beside the handiman. Between Carlos and Adam, there is nothing that can’t be created for the playroom.

“Nah,” Adam shakes his head. “Now that I see it, I can’t unsee it. I’m going to have to take the whole thing down and then try again.”

Before he can move to do just that, the radio host snatches Adam’s arm. “ **The billboard is perfectly level.** ” The Voice purrs out, filling the room. Filling both the men’s ears.

Adam blinks. Cocks his head. It’s...it’s level. He knows it is not, but he can’t see it anymore. “Thanks.”

“No problem!” chirps Cecil. “I’m glad we could put this to good use.”

“You did break it, after all,” observes the truck driver. “Well, let’s go get Earl.”

\--

Carlos and Earl join the pair in the playroom. It is six in the evening, Friday, and the two have finished with the dishes. Earl wears a housecoat, the least dressed of anyone. The newcomers admire the big blue billboard with the crack cutting through it. The wood dominates one whole wall and is perfectly level.

Carlos sets up some water bottles and covered snacks by their first aid kit. Cecil clears his throat. “ **Everyone remembers their safewords. Everyone, especially Earl and Carlos, will be safe at all times and remember who and where they are in the event of distress. This takes precedence over any other commands made by the Voice.** ”

Earl nods and Adam gives Carlos a supportive pat on the back.

 **“Now, it is a dystopian future and Earl, you have unwittingly caught the eye of an important entertainment executive, who is me. After some plotting, I’ve rigged an Entertainment Law that allows for me to have you arrested on a trumped up charge and you become property of my channel, which runs a competition show that distracts the public from complaining. Whenever anyone looks at the blue billboard during this session, it is a studio audience. The cameras set up on the floor --** ” he indicates the two video recorders, one busted and another functional, **“--are cameramen. Adam and Carlos, you are both celebrities of the reality TV world and out to compete for call in votes. I’m your host.”**

It is a lot of information for a Voice to relay. Cecil pauses to gauge if any of the Commands are setting in. Already, he can see the start of faces in the billboard. The gleam of spotlights that Carlos had rigged up earlier, shining from the corners of the wall onto their toys.

“I think I’m going to need to be tied up,” Earl murmurs. He breathes deeply and starts to blush as he, too, begins to see the leering public. “I’m not going to be compliant about this.”

Adam already moves to pick up the rope, having to blink a few times before he realizes that he imagines the brand name logo on the rope. His mind is already filling in details to support the scenario.

Carlos fidgets, feeling nervous about...about the upcoming competition. He knows Adam’s reputation and he has some doubts as to how to play the public. It’s...no. No! He is Carlos the…

He remembers and then finds himself marveling at the ability of Cecil’s Voice.

“You’re okay?” asks the radio host with some concern.

“I’m glad we really are recording this,” Carlos notes, nodding. “I’m...wow. I’m affected.”

“Good affected or bad?” pushes Cecil.

“So far...good. Though I don’t know if I want to compete against Adam.”

The former Scoutmaster raises an eyebrow. “Maybe a friendly rivalry?”

“ **Carlos, you’re television’s top scientist. The dystopian government has allowed you the funds to study anything you like, but because of your beautiful hair I found that you drew a lot of ratings. There are fan-clubs devoted to you. You have started to use that fame to forward your scientific interests. I’ve promised you a chance to be on my show for years. It’s the first time you’ve been allowed to legally work with a human specimen and that excites you. Adam, you’re television’s top Dom from a rival channel. When your employers went under, you found your contract snatched up by me, because I really respected your craftsmanship. Your show was the reason I created this show, and all that waited was finding the perfect Sub.** ”

Carlos shyly scratches at his scalp. Adam smugly straightens his shoulders. Earl gets smaller.

“Safewords?”

“Olive.”

“Purple.”

“Spiders.”

“Good!” Cecil grins, holding up a CD player. “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you...the theme song to my dystopian entertainment show - BDSM Wars!”

“I...I have no words,” Earl states, coming out of the enchantment entirely.

“Did you seriously remix ‘Love Hurts’ with Rick Astley?” Carlos exclaims.

Adam falls down laughing.

\--

Ten minutes later…

\--

An untold number of years and world events later…

Earl flinches when the lights appear, bearing down over him. The noises are loud. Unsettling. He can’t make out specific sounds. The housecoat is too warm. His hands are inaccessible. He stumbles forward with the help of...of someone directing him. He hates this person with the crooked grin and hard eyes.

Then there is a voice, charismatic and loud. Earl recognizes that voice and hates that man even more. He is on a stage. There’s an attractive man in a lab coat joining them. There are people. There are cameras.

“Viewers, we have a treat! You already know our guests Adam and Carlos…”

There is a pause, where Earl hears cheers.

“But you don’t know anything about our new addition. Names are not important…”

“Hey…” Earl starts, trying to shrug away from the one keeping his arm. “Like hell they aren’t!”

He feels his limb twisted and he bites back a yell. Adam breathes into Earl’s neck, “You remember not to speak unless spoken to.”

“Fuck you.”

“Aw, and you can tell he’s hardly being civil,” wilts their announcer. “Fortunately, we’re very good at disciplining. Now, as Adam fixes that noncompliant mouth with a gag, I’ll remind you that our redhead has lost his right to a name when he broke a few laws. Yes, yes. I hear you. We all know the rules and if you break them, you don’t get to enjoy the same privileges as the rest of us. But in a way, he does get to continue serving the state. He gets to continue serving you, dear beautiful viewer. At the start of the show, we had our audience put forward ideas they’d like to see done to a lovely little specimen. And those at home, you’ll have a chance to submit more through our website. Our experts, Carlos and Adam, are here to fulfill those wishes.”

Adam, as instructed, takes Earl’s bound wrists and sets them towards the ground. Earl loses his balance and ends up on his knees. Carlos tosses his friendly rival a ball gag headpiece and Earl tries to escape the contraption, swearing and gnashing his teeth. Adam gets his first chance to prove to the studio audience that he’s skilled enough to handle insubordination. He applies the gag easily, tossing a ‘what can you do about bad Subs?’ look.

“Let’s get our feisty plaything front and center for a better look,” Cecil encourages.

Adam pulls Earl back up, shoving him with minimal care to where Carlos waits.

“It was a lot of work finding a disagreeable citizen who would suit this show,” admits their emcee. “But I think our audience is going to like what we’ve produced. Carlos, you are an expert on human anatomy. Would you care to do the honours?”

Earl snarls wordlessly as Carlos takes a corner of the housecoat. Adam grabs a handful of red hair in warning. It also helps keep Earl standing straight as Carlos starts to unravel the loose knot of the garment. There is the playful catering to drawing out the audience’s anticipation. Under the coat, Earl is naked and before hundreds of faces, he is being stripped of his last remaining layer.

“Let me get these wrists free,” Adam assists.

Between the two of them, they manage Earl’s brief attempt at freedom without difficulty. He is soon revealed, shamelessly pushed out towards the front of the stage. His face colours as murmurs start. The rapt attention of the crowd falls over him, almost a physical sense that is worsened when Carlos starts to comment on the size and shape of Earl.

Carlos pulls on a pair of gloves very clinically, discussing the cock before he handles it. Earl tries to flinch away, wanting nothing more than to turn and hide. Adam is at his back, though, lashing the rope once more into more impressive bonds. Carlos holds Earl’s cock in a mockery of what it might look like when hard. He asks the camera to zoom in on the faint freckles on the surface of the organ. Then he ghosts his cool fingers over Earl’s thighs, explaining how erogenous zones will exist here, as well as around hip bones, nipples, and the neck, especially down the sides.

Adam pipes in with earlobes, demonstrating by pulling at Earl’s with his teeth.

Earl squeaks, unable to tug away. His face burns without help from the studio lighting.

Carlos rises from his crouch to announce that the attention is already getting a reaction from their subject. This much is obvious as the flaccid cock starts to fill out.

“Ah, see,” observes Cecil. “I will remind the audience to note that if he does gain liberty of his lips, he is enjoying this, despite how much he’ll protest otherwise. Oh, but we haven’t had a chance to let the crowd check out that ass. And coincidentally, the first suggestion randomly picked from the audience survey involves it. Lovely Carlos, would you like to have the honor of passing on the instructions?”

Carlos steps over to accept the piece of paper Cecil holds out to him. “Oh, I would love to. I’m very good at measuring.”

He holds up the note for Adam to read. Earl peers up with wide eyes, but the contents elude him.

“And I’m very good at ropes,” Adam confirms, shifting and pulling Earl back a step. “Alright you little slut, are you going to bend over nicely?”

Earl replies, his words unable to filter past the gag. There are however a lot of teeth being shown between the threats, drool starting to spill under the gag.

Adam shrugs, using his superior strength to manhandle his charge over his knee. He sets them up so Earl’s ass is showing off at the crowd. “You’re going to be very nice and not kick at our dear Scientist, or else I’m going to shift so your cock is stuck between my knee and your belly. It pinches now, but it can be worse.”

Earl mewls, his toes curling on the stage floor as if he is considering the option. For the moment, his cock brushes against the denim fabric of Adam’s pants but he is uncomfortable by the knee being ground into his middle. He can’t see Carlos gathering some prepared tools, but Earl does hear several items clatter unceremoniously onto the ground.

“We’ll start small,” Carlos instructs. “And our viewers can see how this one adjusts to different sizes and paces. Everyone is different and it’s vital to understand the limits of a submissive.”

Earl shakes his head and tries to scramble away when he feels a glove coated in lubrication pry at his ass. Adam tightens his hold around him, reaching under to grip at Earl’s testicles in warning.

“A finger,” Carlos says.

“So professional,” Cecil murmurs. A cameraman shifts to get a better view, zooming in so screens can display the act to every viewer.

Earl tenses as he is invaded. His whimpers are amplified when a boom mike lowers over him. He tries to hide his face but he knows he can’t hide from the recorders. Adam’s thumb fondles Earl’s balls as a slick, smooth glove tests the give and a smoother voice comments on the reaction. The analysis and attention is shocking.

Cecil takes a moment as Carlos works to add that those watching online should start live-tweeting with special hashtags.

Then Carlos withdraws his fingers and starts to test a few toys. It is painstakingly slow, according to Earl. The anticipation has him trembling.

“He’s getting hard,” Cecil whispers.

There are snickers from the audience. Earl hunches his shoulders and tries not to imagine himself. He is vulnerable, feeling strange, cold shapes pushing into him. He wants desperately to have the discipline not to move his hips, but it is hard. After all, he is getting aroused. Adam slows his pumping, gradual motions as Carlos casually comments on the resistance his items are finding. If Earl starts to rock back on the objects, or if he tries to thrust into Adam’s leg…

He squeaks when Carlos retracts the current item. “I think that is a comfortable fit for a slut of his experience.”

“That wasn’t very big at all,” Adam chides.

“Which is why I think, for the last part of this audience challenge, we use this one.”

Something rolls onto the ground. It sounds heavy. Adam chuckles, the sound vibrating through Earl. Cecil claps. “Oh, I knew I liked this partnership. Viewers, I would bet that is twice the size as the last dildo!”

Earl squirms anew, and the hand holding his cock lets go completely. The absence of contact immediately triggers a keening exclamation from the gagged mouth.

“I’ll get ready,” Adam announces, standing and pulling a weak-legged Sub with him. “If our host can show off how much of a slut our star is…”

Cecil slips easily in where Adam had been standing, taking over control of Earl’s arms. The audience titters at the bobbing cock as Earl tries to keep from shifting back and forth. He drops his gaze, unable to meet anyone’s eyes. There are toys glistening at his feet. He does not see a particularly big one.

Adam starts to move things around behind them. His broad shoulders show off a good physique as he sets up whatever the trio have planned next. Carlos rejoins Cecil, stripping gloves free in favour of new ones. “So...by my calculations, this one is going to cum without much difficulty.”

“Does the audience want that?” Cecil asks. He interrupts the few shouts that start by adding, “perhaps this display has taught our disobedient whore the error of his ways?”

Carlos reaches up and undoes the strap keeping the gag tight over Earl’s head. The ginger gasps as his mouth is liberated, making a face before pleading, “I didn’t do anything. You can’t do this! My name is --”

His head is yanked back from behind, an unexpected hand tugging at Earl’s scalp. As he tilts back precariously, a metal bit finds its way between his teeth and before he can push it out with his tongue, it is tightened and buckled into place.

“Sorry,” Adam sighs, speaking more to Cecil. “I really hate hearing that kind of rubbish. He really is selfish and the audience doesn’t need to hear that.”

“So true,” acknowledges Cecil. “Our viewers work so hard at their jobs. They deserve a break and that’s why they watch the programmes I help produce. We’ve brought together a whole room full of people, and two very talented experts who are devoted entirely to using your body. You’re enjoying this, you little skank. Cameras don’t lie. But perhaps you shouldn’t enjoy this so much if you’re going to be unappreciative.”

Carlos leans down, holding up a thin metal rod. “I did want to measure this when hard. The sounding rod will tell me just how deep this thing goes.”

“And we’ll update the stats to our website,” adds Cecil.

Earl tries to dance away but between the three of them, he is pinned in place. As soon as the sounding rod starts to penetrate him, he stops thrashing out of fear. Drool spills over the rod in his mouth.

“Now, on to the challenge,” Cecil instructs. “Adam, what do you have set up for us?”

Adam pulls Earl backwards, displaying a scene the redhead cannot see. Earl is still whimpering miserably, head bowed as he looked down at his sounded erection. A pathetic sob escapes him, fresh drool spilling from his parted lips, some of it dripping down onto the bobbing erection.

“Oh but it looks like the audience is so pleased with this turn of events!” Cecil chirps, bouncing in place on his heels as he claps his hands together. “Adam, be a dear and set him up properly, hm? The suspense is almost enough to kill me!” he giggles.

Carlos reaches out to take a firm hold of Earl’s testicles as Adam reaches out and starts to loosen the bonds on his wrists. “If you try anything...I’ll twist them off,” he warns, smiling in Earl’s face, silently daring him to try anything. He nods in approval when the redhead lets out a sob but holds still, allowing Adam to tie his wrists to his thighs. He can only clench his hands into fists and tug a little, his fingers not even able to try and touch his aching erection.

“Come on, slut!” Adam chirps, grabbing onto the bit and yanking to force Earl to turn and start moving. An obscenely large and thick dildo had been set carefully down onto a crate, displaying Earl while still keeping him at a good height on his knees. He ignores Earl’s muffled sob as he drags him over, giving his ass a firm slap across both cheeks. “Up!” he snaps.

Earl is forced to climb up onto the crate with Adam and Carlos’ help. He yelps when he’s forced to drop down onto his knees, grunting as he’s angled so that he is holding himself just above the dildo. He whines now, shaking his head as Adam uses more rope to start binding his legs in a tight frogtie position, making his ass dip dangerously close to the tip of the dildo.

“He looks so anxious for a good fucking, doesn’t he?” Cecil chirps, watching as Carlos uses a liberal amount of lubricant on the dildo as Adam shows off his knotwork, making the ropes form an intricate pattern over Earl’s flesh. “Is he ready, Adam?”

“As ready as he’s going to be,” Adam agrees with a firm nod.

Earl groans as he struggles to hold himself up, refusing to allow himself to be penetrated. His eyes widen as floggers are handed to Carlos and Adam and he starts shaking his head again, writhing in his bonds, gasping as he brushes against the sturdy dildo.

“Now! Everyone in the audience and even you at home; make sure you pay attention very closely to this next part! You’ll be able to vote on whoever whips our slut the best. The winner will be able to fuck his face and cum in his mouth! Isn’t that exciting?!”

“Nnngh…” Earl barely had time to prepare when Adam started to whip him across his chest and stomach. He throws his head back with a muffled wail, unable to stop himself as he falls down onto the dildo, penetrating himself on the slick toy. He gasps and immediately tries to pull up again but he is stopped when the whipping continued, followed soon after by Carlos’ additional lashes across his back and currently full ass.

Adam and Carlos are soon able to find a good rhythm for the abuse. One strikes the front and the other strikes the back, forcing Earl to jerk back and forth. The redhead’s cock bobs up and down, lightly tapping his stomach as he’s forced to fuck himself on the dildo, angry red lashes starting to bloom over his freckled body.

By the time they are finished; Earl is trembling, head bowed as he is sunken down nearly completely down onto the massive dildo. He mewls timidly, lifting his head slightly to watch as the “audience” start to call out their votes for the winner. He can only whine as Adam is named the winner, shaking his feebly as his gag is removed and he’s given a slap on the cheek that leaves his eyes stinging.

“Open,” Adam snarls and he nods when Earl obeys, shoving his cock into his mouth without a second’s thought. He hisses as he holds onto Earl’s hair, yanking him up and down his shaft, choking him on it without slowing down. Earl’s soft gags soon change into small grunts and Adam smiles as he forces himself down to the back of Earl’s throat when he finally reaches his orgasm, filling his mouth before pulling out to wait for him to swallow it, gasping and licking his swollen lips.

“Oh what an amazing display! Now we know how much cock our little slut can take in his greedy little mouth,” Cecil giggles, stepping into view once again. Now sadly we are out of time for tonight...but we have a special surprise for everyone at home!”

Earl moaned a soft ‘olive’ as Carlos started to stick electrodes to his nipples, teasing them into hardness first. Several more were then attached to the sides of his still hard cock, one set so that it touched the sounding rod inside of him still. He watched as Cecil pointed to a cage, licking his lips with a shudder.

“We have a special webcam set up on our website to watch our slut in his cage between episodes! Every time someone donates money to the studio however...these electrodes will send an electric shock through his body! So if you want to make sure that he stays entertaining while not on air...open your wallets! Good night for now and get ready for another wonderful show tomorrow!”

Cecil turns his head to regard the three when he’s finished, smiling as he says, “ **We are home. There is no studio audience. There has been no apocalypse of the corporate variety here. You are all free people.”**

Earl smiles and relaxes, mewling gratefully as Carlos helps him to pull the dildo out of his ass, hissing as Adam removes the sounding rod before they both start to remove the electrodes. “That was fun…” he rasped.

“It wasn’t too much?” Carlos asked, starting to hand out the snacks to the others.

The redhead shook his head, watching as Carlos unwrapped a granola bar for him, pressing it to his lips for him to eat at his own pace. He hummed as he shuddered a little, his body started to come down from the high of the scene. “It was good. You are all good,” he promises between bites and mouthfuls of water.

“And we all know that you like to come down in tight restraints…” Cecil began.

“Hm?”

Carlos blushed, looking down at the ground. “I was able to um...I found an old generator and repurposed it. The electrodes would be attached to your body and I have a timer set on the machine so that they would shock you in random places and at random times. I thought that maybe...well if you wanted to…”

“I would like to try them,” Earl agreed.

“You would?” Carlos asked in surprise, perking up. He blushed when Earl kissed him on the lips, a mix of Adam’s semen and granola still on his lips. “Earl…”

“You’re very clever at making toys,” Adam assures the Outsider.

“My clever Carlos!” Cecil agrees.

Cecil and Adam work together to carry Earl into the cage when he’s finished eating. Carlos applies the electrodes to his cock, stomach, and nipples and there is a final kiss between them before the door is closed and locked, leaving Earl in the darkness as they head upstairs without him.

An hour later the three are sitting on the couch watching a movie together. Carlos is the only one to turn his head when he hears footsteps approaching, smiling shyly as a recently escaped Earl approaches, naked body covered in a soft looking bathrobe. Bodies move around and soon the redhead is sitting with them, snuggled down so that he can rest his head on Carlos’ shoulder, humming in satisfaction.


	6. Intermission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein questions are asked and answered and there are assurances made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks this chapter to smilodonmeow for reminding us that we can do scenes with the other boys too!

Earl chuckles when he finds Carlos reading over the binder full of old and new scene ideas the Scoutmaster had written over the years. The redhead shakes his head as the dark-skinned Outsider closes the binder, stammering a weak apology. Instead he simply sits down beside him, pointedly taking the binder from trembling hands before easily opening it to where Carlos had been looking. “It's usually me who is embarrassed about these things,” he reminds the other.

“Well...um...”

The redhead looks over the page, smiling as he shakes his head a little. “I'm sorry...some of these were just...passing fads,” he confesses, gesturing to some of them. “I don't think I could do them anymore, especially with the risk of seizures and...”

“Actually...”

Earl perks up at Carlos' interruption, raising an eyebrow as he looks at him and asks, “Carlos?”

“I was wondering if...maybe I could play the submissive sometimes?” Carlos asks, too nervous to lift up his head to look up at the other. “I know that we've been having fun playing with you as the submissive and I _do_ like it but...I would like to feel...special too. Especially with everything that happened...before...and...”

He stops speaking when Earl gently rests a hand on the back of his head, pulling him in for a tender kiss. Earl hums, resting his forehead against Carlos' as he smiles at him. “You liked playing the part of that villager in our game last time?” he asks.

“I missed things like that,” Carlos confesses, “I always liked when my...uh...my size was talked about...given some kind of value, you know?”

And Earl does understand what Carlos means when he talks about having a value assigned to himself and his body. It is one of the main reasons why Earl himself enjoys scenes where he is purchased or haggled over, some kind of value applied to himself that makes him feel wanted. He nods his head, running his fingers through Carlos' perfect and thick hair. “Which scenario has caught your eye?” he asks, gesturing to the open binder again.

Carlos perks up at the question and he smiles shyly as he looks over the list before pointing to a few. “I liked these,” he confesses to him, offering a shy smile as he watches Earl reading the scenes over. “I'll understand if the others don't want to but...”

“I'll talk to them about it,” Earl promises. “After all...this isn't just for me, right? This is for all of us to explore our kinks and wants and needs in a safe environment. I highly doubt that Cecil or Adam will begrudge you a chance to explore your own wants and needs, Carlos.”

“...I hope so,” Carlos whispered. “I know that it might seem like I...that I want it to be like _that_ again but I don't, I promise! I just really liked the way I was being talked about and handled?”

Earl smiles, kissing Carlos on the end of the nose. “You can keep the binder and look over everything. Check off anything that catches your interest and I'll ask the others about it,” he promises.

The scientist nods his head, cheeks burning a little in embarrassment at ever being worried about this to begin with. He clears his throat and takes the binder back from the Scoutmaster, flashing him a toothy smile. “I am...still in control of myself,” he promises Earl suddenly, finding himself urged to do so. “I am perfectly in control of myself and I know that if we did get to play one of the scenes I liked that I'd be able to stay in control. I...”

The redhead stops him with a hand on his arm. “Carlos,” Earl whispers, “I trust you.”

And that is enough for Carlos.

 


	7. Science Fiction; Double Feature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Cecil experiments with his Voice once more, testing the limits of control over sexual fantasies.

Carlos sits in the upstairs office, adjusting his notebook and the remote so that he may pause the video to illegally transcribe his thoughts during the experiment. He is less worried now on being discovered with contraband pens because his anxieties are better handled after re-education sessions. In truth, it is the legal content of the video that will be the hardest to explain if he is caught.

Their house is empty. Cecil, Earl, and Adam are all working. Left to a quiet home is difficult. Especially after the...the Thing.

Cecil’s show doesn’t start for another two hours. Sometimes the silence is bigger than the scientist. Immeasurable. And he waits for the sound of the front door to open.

It might not be someone nice who calls out to him. But if he’s good…

******“Carlos!”**

The Voice from the television is speaking to him.

******“May you have clarity and learn what you need to know from this study, and after, if you review your sense of security and feel safe and consenting, watch this again with yourself as the subject.”**

Cecil pauses, leaning over the video screen and staring intently through the lens at his future boyfriend. His look says a great deal -- reminding Carlos that he knows of the Scientist’s recent interest in submissive sex. How he is adjusting to the Voice and needing distance. How he is afraid of relapsing into a crueller, simpler creature. And how he is appreciated, still.

Carlos can feel the Command settling into his amygdala, a part of his brain that helps with memory and social-sexual behaviours. It is intriguing, how sometimes the Outsider resident can catch snagging tendrils of his boyfriend’s Voice. He knows it is different for his other lovers. Cecil Speaks and they Choose to obey.

Carlos can’t help it.

He repeats that, aware that it excuses his actions from...Then.

He pauses the video as his onscreen boyfriend draws away. He writes down everything he remembers Cecil Saying. He looks at the words, even as he hears them.

Clarity.

He already feels more attentive.

It is the second part in the instructions that Carlos has not anticipated. A mandate to review a second time if Carlos chooses. With the freedom to let go of his analysis and to get lost in what comes next.

He feels his heart rate begin to quicken. His next inhale is shakier and his palms grow damp.

If he is comfortable. If he is feeling safe, and consents…

He doesn’t have to decide now. He can watch and observe, then continue or leave.

Cecil’s stare, captured and frozen as it tries to back away takes on more meaning. Carlos reminds himself of the care the Voice takes in using his Commands. In finding words that aren’t confusing or capable of being misconstrued. How he had possessed such power for his whole life and has only begun to use it now. How he would tell Carlos again and again that there is love and respect and validation for all of them.

For Carlos.

But that would be cheating and Carlos knows he has to find strength and confidence on his own. And that is why Cecil and Kevin are not the same.

Kevin’s Voice told Carlos when he was good.

Cecil doesn’t use his Voice when he says it.

“You only lie with your Voice when you promise us we’re safe,” hums the Scientist, fondly. Or perhaps it is sad.

The best research sometimes yields both.

The mild panic at what comes after the first viewing subsides. Carlos returns his hand to the remote. When he releases his television boyfriend from his pose, the background comes into view.

Earl Harlan sits naked on the bed. He is also attentive.

“Experiment three,” Cecil states, very officially. “Using the Voice to completely immerse a subject in a sexual fantasy. No tools to create bondage or pleasure. Just words.”

Earl peers at the camera and shrugs one dotted shoulder awkwardly at his ear. “Um, we’re using some of my notes. And I know you’ve read through them Carlos, but...well, don’t judge me?”

“He won’t,” Cecil assures. He does this even as Carlos murmurs the same.

Cecil clears his throat.

\--

******You are perfectly safe. No matter the scenario described, your body will not suffer injury or death, though your mind may believe it during the session. At all times you will know your safewords and have liberty to speak them. You will not forget this.**

Earl nods his head, shifting a little on the bed, freckled cheeks burning a little already from anticipation. He can see the way Cecil is looking at him and he bites his bottom lip, restraining himself from saying anything to interrupt the Voice as he begins.

******You are a brave pilot on an intergalactic mission of great necessity. Your superiors have been getting reports about colonies of Humans and non-Humans going missing and because of its importance, your superiors have sent you to try and see what is happening. You suspect that it is just slavers using advanced technology to sweep through these colonies and plan on dealing with them harshly for their actions.**

**You have however been hearing rumors that it is something else.**

Earl sits up a little straighter as Cecil starts to set the mood for this experiment. He can just see from the corner of his eyes the control panel and advanced technology used to build his spacecraft. He feels a stern determination start to build up inside of him, urging him to go and find the source of the disappearances.

******Your ship is attacked while you slumber and leave it on autopilot. You awaken abruptly and race to the controls but you are too late. The damage is profound. All you can do is try to steer the heavily damaged vessel towards the planet you had been heading for in the first place and pray for the best possible outcome. You try to send out a distress signal but you lose yourself into darkness when there is impact. Something strikes your head and you are out senseless.**

**When you awaken...you are not anywhere near your ship.**

**Your head stings and you feel groggy. You are down on your knees, arms forced down to your sides. You try to move before your vision can properly adjust to everything and it is in that moment that you realize you cannot move at all. You blink to make sure your vision clears and the horror that washes over you hits you like a wave from an ocean controlled by a false moon.**

**You are bound to the walls by a thick black material. It is almost like resin, the way it clings to both flesh and your uniform so tightly, binding you to the surface and the floor. It is warm. There are other shapes, uniformly spread along a line on either side of you. Your peripherals catch this. It is as if you are trapped in a massive hive and you start to panic, thrashing uselessly in these strange restraints with gritted teeth.**

**You only stop when one of your captors finally makes an appearance. The creature is large and imposing, more than six-feet tall. Its outer body is covered in slick plates that shine iridescent and midnight black in what little amount of light there is. It stops to stand in front of you and it leans forward, hissing softly in your face. As it peels back its lips, sharp teeth are revealed as it drools a slimy thick liquid.**

**Slowly, your captor stands up straight once more and it reaches down with one distortedly long arm. It ends with claws that pull at your soft red hair. It drags your head up, forcing you to look at it. Sharp talons scrape against the nape of your neck under your hairline and for a brief moment you wonder if it is gentleness it demonstrates with this gesture. It hisses softly at you now, gesturing to itself and your eyes flicker down to where it indicates.**

**It has a protuberance that is long and stiffening, the tip producing an inky viscous substance that seeps towards the ground. Realization dawns on you and you start to fight against your bonds, only making them tighten around you to keep you still. You cry out as they tighten again, seeming to dig into you -- pressure around your thighs, your hips, your clavicle -- urging you to become compliant.**

**No! No, you can’t…**

**To your shame you can feel yourself becoming aroused in your struggling. You tell yourself that it might be the result of the walls. A chemical reaction, breathed in or absorbed. You refuse to believe yourself turned on naturally by this danger.**

**The tatters of your uniform are ripped off of your body, the resin shifting and opening to make it easier for this creature to dig its sharp fingers between the fabric and your pebbled skin, stripping you naked with a focused purpose. It is only when you are completely naked that the resin starts to change again, a hole forming beneath you like a pore in the floor opening. Something protrudes there, adjusting its shape the moment it touches your unprotected ass. You feel it and open your mouth to scream but it comes out choked as you are penetrated in an unexpected thrust. The resin closes in around you to keep you from interrupting the object firmly fitting inside of you. It begins moving at its own pace. Something wet splurts over your hole, easing the passage as you try to resist.**

**The resin morphs around you again, thinning out until it starts to resemble a second skin. It is unlike anything you’ve encountered before, shifting and changing, exploring over your body. It begins to tease your cock into total hardness. It fondles your balls, making your protests turn breathy and strangled. You can even feel something start to dig into your nipples, pinching and twisting the hard nubs of flesh as if testing the sensitivity.**

**You are so focused on what is happening to your body that you almost forget about the creature standing in front of you. It is not until its member is pushing against your gasping lips that you remember. You try to clamp down and bite defensively, but its erection is protected by a hardened shell and your jaw is not strong enough to harm it. You grimace at the bitter taste that forces its way onto your tongue as it fails to push the thing out.**

**Your face becomes fucked without mercy. Your head is folded down and then, lovingly, tilted. From the side angle, you see the shapes in the wall beside you. The resin there shifts away from the first few and your eyes widen as you are finally shown what has happened to those missing colonists. You can see some kind of non-Human that had been hidden inside the wall. It is now revealed in full, face staring dully forward and stomach bloated unnaturally. You think of pregnant aliens, loaded with eggs. But that never happens to humanoids. It’s not possible, it’s --**

**The thing invading your ass from below, its shape something you can only imagine, starts to squirm deeper into your slickly lubed orifice. It starts to expand, its insides transferring something large against your anus. You choke, seeing stars as the object eases into you. It is painfully slow, allowing for no damage to come to your insides in the transition. Sparks run up and down your body and you try to buck and fight and scream. You can do none of these things. Once more, the creature controlling your head directs it to the figure posted to the wall.**

**The non-Human’s cock is swollen and oozing some kind of substance. It makes no attempt to acknowledge you or fight. It stares ahead, moaning softly in mindless need. It looks resigned to its fate. Perhaps you should be, too.**

**No, you think, sobbing. Choking. The object forcibly driving deeper into your unprepared body rubs against your prostate. A second starts to follow and you don’t know how they’ll fit.**

**A second bulge in the wall suddenly opens to reveal its contents. You see what used to be a living thing, but it is hanging from the wall limp and silent. Most of its form is covered in squirming, squabbling creatures that resemble some kind of larvae. Its head droops but drool spills from it, the same black ichor that you suspect is pumping across your numbing tongue. You can’t help but focus upon the ugly flap of torn skin that has been ripped from the poor non-Human’s abdomen. It has become a nest for the ugly monsters.**

**You panic further as realization dawns on you that you are being used as some kind of incubator for this creature’s young. You start to keen and moan around the erection in your mouth but this only provokes the creature to lovingly tighten its claws in your hair, revealing its sense of possessiveness over you already.**

**They will be keeping you alive for however long it takes. By the way this one is treating you, it is obvious that it will be leaving you conscious too throughout this ordeal. You pant heavily once your captor finally pulls its cock out of your mouth. You can’t keep the heavy liquid from spilling over your sore lips.**

**The rest of the resin on the wall begins to creep up all the way around your head, leaving only your eyes to remain uncovered for now. Your neck is turned up so that you can see the other captives here. Your ass is still being filled and fucked without an end in sight. You can feel the foreign objects starting to gather and settle in you. Underneath, something rubs against your cock as it bobs against your filling belly, shaming you with its betrayal.**

**Whatever it is, it feels as hard shelled as the creature’s member, and segments lined with imagined teeth latch over your erection, pressing warning bites into your flesh. It slides over your penis as you grunt and weep uselessly, unable to thrust or pull away.**

**You will lose time in your prison, forced to watch as more of these creatures continue to inspect and use the other captives here, knowing that every single one shares your fate. You are the only one that seems aware of the peril. You watch each incubator as they twitch, or whine briefly. As they open their mouths without protest when fed. They are obedient.**

**You realize that your cock will be tortured until you, too, accept.**

**There will be more ships sent out to investigate the disappearances and this will only cause the hive to grow. At some point, a new pilot will come along. Perhaps a Scientist, who will experience the same. He will turn his head and see you, beautifully carrying dozens of aliens. Your cock favoured by those tending you. Your mouth ready to serve, before your body becomes food.**

Carlos quickly finishes his notes, looking up just in time to watch as Earl thrashes against the headboard of the bed. There is nothing binding the Scoutmaster to the wood and yet he sits with his back pressed against it, arms draped atop of it and unmoving as if restrained. Just as Cecil had said they would be. The redhead thrusts his hips upwards, letting out a muffled scream as he finally cums, semen making a mess on his stomach and thighs as he shudders and goes limp, panting heavily as he struggles to control himself.

The scientist blushes, watching as Cecil starts to talk Earl down from the imagery he had woven into his brain. A weighted blanket is produced and Earl is cleaned with a wet cloth before he is wrapped up and kissed, given water to drink and something warm to eat by Cecil’s hand.

The image makes Carlos smile and he hums softly to himself, looking over his notes. The scene had been fairly intense considering the elements involved but Cecil had been able to remain in control the entire time. Earl had come out of it just as fine as if nothing had happened at all, save for having had rigorous sex. So based on these results...it was most certainly safe for Cecil to use his Voice for Carlos in a scene where Carlos would play the submissive with the others next time they played together.

He smiled as he came to this conclusion, sighing in relief as he set aside his notes, picking up the remote to start the little film over again to properly enjoy it this time around. He smiled as he thought about the things he could ask Cecil to help him do in the bedroom and playroom. He hugs a pillow to his chest in delight as Cecil starts to tell Carlos about his mission…

Carlos had always liked science fiction...


	8. Science Fiction Week Continues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freckles, like constellations, are rare on commodities.

**"You are Earl Harlan, and you will not forget. You will remember your safeword and even if you do not think you will be understood, you will speak it if you require it. You are safe, and no harm can come to you. Do you understand?"**

“Olive,” Earl says, closing his eyes as he lies flat on the floor.

**"Good. You are unconscious, on a ship. You are far from your planet and, unbeknownst to you...far from your time. You’re off to colonize the stars, though your space programme had not taken into account that those distant places were already occupied. You’ll wake up soon, not knowing the language you hear. Not strong enough at your rousing to defend yourself from the pirates who find you. You are valued, Earl."**

Immediately, Earl feels himself relax. His pajama flannels are a sleeker, more professional uniform. His limbs settling as the hum of the ship closes in like a tomb. He forgets their vote to extend science fiction week. He forgets Adam’s review of the previous experiment and how Carlos is joining in for the morning’s part of the session.

He is Earl Harlan. He is also safe.

And he is someone else who only thinks he is safe. Adrift in a ship full of colonists, all cryogenically sleeping for hundreds of years and trillions of miles.

A buzzing. A hiss of air escaping. Earl hums, wondering if he has arrived. Then there is noise, and hands, and pressure.

He is hauled up, fingers against his biceps. Harsh, alien utterances of men in a hurry. Men upset or…

Earl can’t move. His legs trail after him, numb from the state he is meant to be in. His eyes won’t focus and his jaw drops, slack and clumsy. He drools, feeling foolish. Is this an emergency or…?

“Set him down.”

“We don’t have time for this!”

“No, this is vital. I’ve got a feeling that he’s the right type.”

“The radiation poisoning alone…”

“You verified the shielding on this ship. If the stock is pure, the Slaughter Planet will pay handsomely. But I’m telling you, he looks like the Emperor’s type.”

Earl understands none of this. He is dropped with some ceremony. His head lolls on a neck that has no strength. He feels his uniform cut away, which forces his mind to focus. If he is in medical distress, that would explain these strangers removing his clothing. But then his knee is lifted. He is exposed, and touched.

“Well I’ll be space-damned.”

“Adam!”

“No names,” hisses one of the voices. “We’re legitimate space slavers you fool!”

“Space-damned, though? Ugh. Okay. Look, freckles. This one has them. And that’s impossible.”

“The Emperor will clear our records if this one proves suitable.”

Earl tries not to see double as the pair continue their talks.

“Alright, I’m willing to risk negotiating with the Slaughter Planet to overlook the empty compartment. But this one better produce.”

Earl blinks and squints, unable to see much of the pair over him. The sounds he makes is almost language. “Wha...where are we? Is it time?”

“It thinks it’s capable of communication,” drawls one. “Pick it up. Deadline’s closing.”

Earl is lifted again, and then a voice whispers in his ear about a change in air pressure and the stress leading him to black out.

When he awakens again, he is on his front on a metal surface. He is blinded, with arms bound behind him and his knees bent with ankles locked. The armbinder and his ankles are lashed together. His bondage provokes him to twitch and test his muscles. They obey, now. It does him no good.

“Hello?” he calls out, voice cracked from disuse. “What’s happening?”

“Listen,” comments a voice, familiar from...recently. “Is that even a language?”

“Does it matter?” says another. “The harness is ready.”

A pair of invisible hands start to latch straps and buckles around Earl’s limbs. They are cold and his skin puckers. He calls out and pleads for explanation, but his keepers don’t care to assure him of anything. Nor can he comprehend their conversation. Not now, though he is Earl Harlan. He remembers that.

And safewords.

“Olive,” he warbles.

“Very talkative. I thought you would have gagged it when you blindfolded it?”

“To be honest, I like the idea of hearing the screams. But if they see what’s coming…”

“Like your new toy?”

“I am a sucker for the operations on Slaughter Planet. All livestock get these inserted.”

Earl thinks to moan or react, but remembers that he cannot properly translate the words into warning. He squirms and suddenly, there is a cold metal ball being slipped into his ass. A voice murmurs of how it is a hook, large and securing itself into his unprepared hole.

He cries out, the sound hollow against the interior of a private ship. The hook settles in with a wiggle that teases another yell from the redhead. Then, it lifts up from a rope that tugs it taut. Earl’s prostate suddenly ignites as he is suspended by two men pulling on the harness.

One checks the distribution of weight, making sure none of Earl’s limbs are pinched or losing circulation. The ginger feels his cock dangling. It is coming alive as he envisions his situation.

“How’s our meal ticket?”

“Not damaged,” reports the other. “And hard already. We may not even need the hormone supplement.”

“We give this freeloader nothing until we know it is worth something. Pump out a sample.”

Earl’s gasps and mewls turn breathy as a warm hand begins to fondle and squeeze his cock. He cums with help a moment later, hearing his semen being caught in a glass container.

“I’ll run the tests. See if the radiation levels are there.”

“For fun, run it against the database of rare commodities.”

Earl droops in his hanging frame, worn and drifting. He is told that time passes and he is ignored in the storeroom of the ship. He sleeps, but then rouses, more aware of his predicament. He groans as he struggles and wriggles around in his restraints, gritting his teeth as he opens his mouth to let out another protesting cry.

He calls out for an explanation. For context. He gives his name and rank and planet. He tries to express his mission and lists the laws and the organizations he can associate with. If he is heard, there is no answer.

A Voice tells him he is ignored for several more hours. His captors wait for him to fall silent and still before returning to look him over again. Their hands run over his naked and tightly bound body, giving commentary with moderate praise escaping their lips before his limp cock is taken and stroked into hardness once again. He understands none of the words and his attempt to repeat himself fails to be coherent under the attention.

“Get the cage ready for this one. Now that we know that he’s free of radiation, we can at least focus on the training while waiting for the other test results to come in.”

Earl lets out a whine as cold metal is pressed against his hard cock. He gasps as he soon feels the tightening embrace of unforgiving metal, the base of his cock squeezed as the cage is locked into place. “Please...you can’t do this to me!” he grunts, shaking his head.

“You think the Emperor will want him even if the other test doesn’t come back positive?” one of them asks, stroking the sides of Earl’s neck, the tips of trimmed nails teasing over the flesh.

“With his hair and freckles? I think the Emperor will at least make an offer,” the other assures, teasing Earl’s nipples into hardness before pinching them hard enough to make him scream. “It makes such lovely sounds…” he sighs.

“Well we’ve got to get that mouth used to doing something more productive than making noises,” his companion snorts.

Earl hollers as a strong hand combs through his hair, gripping onto it tightly before yanking it back. He cries out in pain, scalp starting to throb from the rough grab. His mouth is kept open by another hand pinching the sides of his jaw, forcing him to wait as something smooth and hard is forced into his mouth, leather straps wrapping around his head and buckled tight to keep the object in place. It is a gag with a dildo built into it. The dildo is thick and heavy, pressing down on his tongue as well as against the back of his throat.

The redhead groans around the new oral intrusion, unable to do anything else but suckle on it as his mouth starts to fill with saliva to stop himself from choking on it. He whines as his nipples are pinched once again in punishment, writhing in his restraints before being forced to settle down again, mewling and drooling like an animal.

Earl is told that more time passes as he is left in this humiliating state. In Earl’s head, he feels the hours drag. He starts to count them. One, or perhaps two blending together. Three, where he goes numb and mindless. Four. _Cum_. Five. _Cum_. Si --

He is Earl Harlan, and he will not forget. He will remember his safewords and even if he does not think he will be understood, he will speak them if he requires it. He is safe, and no harm can come to him. Does he understand?

Earl knows he is trembling. And around the dildo, he garbles as clear a “clover” as he can. It has only been eight minutes in this state, but time is weird. And Earl has spent six hours locked in his head. Immediately, the scene is suspended. Reality settles back around them as the gag and blindfold are removed with haste.

“Early?” Cecil asks, stroking his cheek with a warm palm.

“Too much,” Earl pants, blinking rapidly to reset the playroom. To properly see Cecil. “It was the sensory dep...deprivation. And the time.”

His voice cracks and he drinks gratefully from the sports drink Adam presses to his lips. He sighs gratefully once it is pulled away, instantly sated and comforted.

“Do you want to end it?” Cecil asks.

“No,” Earl assures them. “I just...no more blindfolds. It was too much.”

Adam and Cecil nod and Earl’s position is adjusted to offer him a small amount of comfort when they start up again. Cecil uses his Voice to return Earl to his captors. They have decided to work on some proper sex toy training as they hope to sell their prize to the Emperor. He shudders as he is placed back into the scene, whimpering in some small relief as the hook is pulled out of his ass to allow him down.

He is lowered onto his knees, firmly on the ground. His armbinders are briefly removed, those limbs forced in front of him before being sealed up once again. The end of the binders is attached to a ring in the ground. A posture collar is strapped around his neck, forcing him to sit up as straight as possible with his head up and facing forward. “Please,” he whines, squirming in his bonds as a chain is attached to the front of his collar. “I’m a sanctioned representative for the Olive Colony. This isn’t right.”

“Does this thing still keep making noises?” Adam snorts, placing a metal pole in front of Earl and adjusting its height with a few twists and turns. “We should snip its vocal chords,” he mutters, revealing a recently purchased and sterilized dildo, thicker and longer than the one Earl had been forced to endure as a gag.

“Oh, but I like the sounds he makes,” Cecil counters, stroking Earl’s head as Adam attaches the dildo to the top of the pole. “Besides, I doubt that the Emperor will want a toy that’s been altered without his prior input and permission to do so. It could cost us a lot, us saving you from the trouble of listening to its primitive grunting.”

“You don’t care about any of what I’m saying, do you?” Earl keens as Adam adjusts the pole’s height once again, making sure the dildo is pressed against his lips. He shakes his head, turning away from the object. “I am _not_ a toy! You can’t do this to me…”

“It doesn’t look like it’s very happy to be offered a chance to show us what it can do,” Adam sighs. He shakes his head as if disappointed in their captive’s behavior, picking up a braided flogger from a table.

“We have plenty of time to teach it to obey before that test comes back,” Cecil reminds him, happily pulling up a chair and sitting down. He crosses one leg over the other, giggling to himself as he makes himself comfortable. “Try not to break the skin,” he warns.

Earl is assured by Cecil’s Voice that it only takes four days worth of floggings before his will finally starts to break. His back and ass are covered in bright red lines from Adam’s flogging and he sobs as that pirate presses the palm of his hand against his skin in warning.

“Show us what you can do,” he growls in a language Earl can and yet cannot understand.

“I told you it could be taught,” Cecil hums, watching as Earl starts to suck on the head of the dildo, tears in his eyes.

“I’m reserving my judgement until the rest of the results come through,” Adam states, flicking his wrist to strike Earl’s abused and still aching ass. It urges him to push himself to take in more of the dildo. Adam smiles in approval when the redhead starts to choke around the toy, doing his best to pleasure it under their watchful gaze. “Make sure you put that tongue to good use…”

Earl is told that it is another week of oral training before the test results come back. His mind supplies memories of being fed through successive sucking of the dildo. How he times his rests to when the pirates are sleeping, leaning his head against the post with the slippery rubber lying against his cheek as he dozes. How his escape attempts fail. How he aches in his cage.

He is confused when his captors roll an odd looking machine to rest beside him, ignoring his presence as they speak excitedly between one another.

“I’ll admit it...you were right,” Cecil chuckles as Adam carefully removes Earl’s cock cage, fondling the hard organ with the tips of his fingers. “But I insist that I was the one to notice the freckles on it first!”

“You can claim whatever you like,” Adam laughs, opening a jar of lubricant with a flick of his thumb. He pours a good amount onto Earl’s erection, stroking the organ lazily to ensure an even coat on it. The release of the cock and the unexpected touches on the swollen, tender organ leaves Earl squeaking in want and desire.

“It has been improving with the sucking,” Cecil notes in approval as Adam sets up the glass tube that he plans to fit over Earl’s erection. “The ship’s computer says we’re running the risk of making it fat from what sustenance the dildo is programmed to reward it with.”

Adam shrugs his shoulders at the observation, checking the connection on everything as he says, “Well, even the dumbest animal learns how to take advantage of its situation. But now that the tests show how much we can sell this for, I’ll adjust the food so the hormones are in there. This animal is going to make us rich before the Emperor can have it.”

“I’m buying a solar system. I was looking at those numbers, and you and I can each have a solar system!”

Earl groans as the tube is slid over his cock, fitting snug over it. He is too afraid to stop sucking, terrified of the brunette’s skill with the flogger. He can only watch from the corner of his eye as Adam flips several switches and turns a few knobs on the main base of the machine. He cries out when it suddenly comes to life, revealing what its purpose is when the tube starts to lazily suck on his cock, forcing an orgasm out of him several seconds later.

“He must have been saving that one!” Cecil giggles, nodding in approval as the semen is collected and stored. “We’re going to make a fortune! Just think about it! Not only did we find a freckled primitive with red hair; we found one with semen that is considered high class! And to think it almost ended up with its crew on Slaughter Planet.”

Adam nods, groping Earl’s red ass. “And with that special hormonal mixture he’ll be unable to stop himself from cumming.”

**“That lubricant is a special mixture...used to force constant arousal from the one it is used on. He will be unable to stop himself from cumming and becoming hard again shortly afterwards.”**

“You sent the message over to the Emperor’s people with the first test results?” Adam asks.

“We should get a response in the next day or so. Hopefully the Emperor sends someone over to look this beast over.”

“Not too soon, I hope.”

Earl listens, uncomprehending. Knowing, yet dulled and overwhelmed. He can taste the imagined hormones leaking from the dildo he is sucking. He is painfully aroused again, close to another orgasm. He believes that time is dragging on, and when he cums, he is told it is not his second time…

\--

“You are such a gifted toy, aren’t you?” Carlos hums, looking down at the head bobbing between his spread legs. He smiles as mismatched eyes flick up to look at him, a mewl escaping the other’s full mouth as he shyly nods his head. He reaches down, stroking Earl’s hair with a soft coo. “Stand up and present for me,” he commands.

With a wet pop Earl pulls off of Carlos’ cock to obey. The redhead stands up, spreading his legs slightly apart, thrusting his hips forward as he places his hands on the back of his head. He is eager to obey the kind man’s commands, knowing that they are not punctuated with floggers and threats of cruel torture.

Carlos has come from the Imperial Trade office, and has been the first to speak kindly to Earl. He has been patient and gentle, trying to communicate in small commands that the Emperor would surely expect any potential toy to know. The pirates had not thought of that, but Carlos is good at his job.

Earl mewls softly when Carlos reaches out, cupping his testicles in the palm of his hand, running his thumb over the sensitive skin. “You’re going to be good for your new Master, aren’t you?” he asks with a knowing smile. He watches as Earl nods his head, humming as he strokes his shaft once, letting his hand slide up to the head, teasing it with his thumb. “Speak.”

“Yes, Sir,” Earl pants.

“And if you’re not a gifted toy and you displease him...you know where you’ll go?”

Earl whimpers at the gentle threat and he nods his head as his lower lip trembles. Carlos smiles and pats his thigh in reassurance, leaning forward to kiss the head of his penis. “Don’t be scared. I know you’ll be amazing for him,” he promises. Showing the pet the holo-feed of Slaughter Planet had been a very good motivator, revealing exactly what had happened to his old crew.

“Now…” coos the inspector, leaning back in his chair once again. “Climb up here and give me your cock like the gifted toy that you are.”

Earl obeys without question, no longer remembering words like colonist and basic rights. He carefully settles up into Carlos’ lap. He adjusts himself accordingly, resting his hands on the back of the chair as he hunches over the dark skinned man, careful not to let his cock touch Carlos’ lips yet without permission.

With a satisfied purr Carlos takes Earl by the hips and opens his mouth, lazily sucking on the nearly completely broken slave’s cock.

Carlos will decide if Earl is worth it. He has also separated himself from the pirates, being kind when the pair have been cruel. Being soft where they are rough. In reality, he had instructed the pair before boarding to act meaner, so his “rescue” would be trusted by the potential product. By working together, the three psychologically control the ginger.

Carlos is pleased with how compliant the pirate pair had been. Usually business interactions were sloppy and unsatisfying. But now the inspector does not mind turning a blind eye to the earlier sales of semen that the two have benefited from. What the Emperor doesn’t know won’t harm anyone. Carlos also gets to play with a needy, trusting toy before he approves it.

And Earl is left looking forward to Carlos and his future.

“You’re almost hard,” Carlos breathes, retracting enough to speak. He lets his tongue curl along the underside of Earl’s cock, tracing a swelling vein. “Go present yourself for a milking.”

Earl swallows, but obeys. The pirates are in the next room with the machine and after they pump him, he will be left in the harness until tomorrow.

Which is his life, now.

“What do you say?” Carlos asks, coy in his white Imperial coat and perfect hair.

“Yes, Sir,” Earl murmurs. “Olive.”

He leaves the room.

Carlos takes one deep breath in, and then another out. He is Carlos, and he will not forget. Even though he works for a fictional Emperor. One who does not have a face or a name and wants a slave like Earl. He remembers his own safewords and recalls that this is a game.

Then he passes on a note to the pirates, instructing them to be particularly mean to the Offering.


	9. Grill and Shakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Earl becomes useful in a few extra ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer** : Um...in our defence...the fetish of devouring someone/something that wants to live, and also the fetish of being devoured...they may actually be canon in Night Vale episodes, so...
> 
> Yeah...
> 
> Don't read if you think that's a poor excuse to justify some crazy shit.
> 
> (For those worried about the safety of the boys; Cecil's Voice is very useful with exploring _many_ things.)

Two months from now, in a newly renovated basement:

 

\-------

 

Earl shudders, letting out a weak scream as his hips snapped forward. Hands clench into tight fists as he cums again into the heavily lubricated and greedy tube that has been sealed over his cock hours ago. The redhead is standing, his body forced to stay completely straight by metal bars that were locked around his wrists, ankles, neck, and waist. His eyes are left uncovered in order to avoid any more seizures. His mouth is gagged to keep down the noises he is making.

After modifying his basement, the three were pretending that Adam’s house fronted an illegal Milk Bar; providers of illicit liquids for consumption by highly influential and rich patrons. Earl had been chosen, abducted, then brought here to serve as one of the cows. A milking machine Carlos had crafted is being used for the purpose.

"Easy...easy..." Cecil hums, running a hand down Earl's heaving chest. The radio host smiles, stroking the stomach as he presses against him. "Now...what colour jug do we put your milk in?" he asks, pulling the gag from Earl's lips.

"Oli...olive..." whines the animal. He cracks his jaw once before the bit is reapplied.

Barstools surround a tall bar that holds a place for Earl to be displayed in. On the other side, a platform keeps him a good height from the floor so his cock is accessible to those sitting nearby. A gap in the bar’s surface swallows Earl’s thighs at the knees. To reach the gag, Cecil needs to climb onto the stool or the table. This he does often. A perk of being friends with the owner, no doubt.

Adam cradles his milk shake. Carlos, too, stays after hours. The three talk politics during the day. They discuss work and current events. But now, with the venue empty of others, the conversation has turned to opinions on what old cows are good for.

Earl is only able to mewl and squirm as Adam discusses his appreciation of the fine art of butchering useless animals for meat. Cecil argues that rehabilitation and special farms for locals to visit is a more preferable option. Carlos thinks that most businesses give up on their cows far too quickly. He’s working on ways to keep the beasts performing better, with larger yields.

“Well, why don’t we make a wager?” Cecil offers, settling back into his seat and playing with his striped straw. “We wait until this one is finished. First, Carlos tries to see if he can make this darling useful again. Then I’ll see if I can’t get us to agree to a new placement where the dear is useful to everyone. And as happy in that role as it is here. Finally, if neither of those stick…”

“You watch me cook him.” Adam taps at the lacquered wood. “I’m famous for that. You’ll both get the best cuts, of course.”

Earl can’t shake his head with it trapped between the bars. He whimpers as a thigh is stroked.

“I am a busy man,” Carlos sighs. “Are we going to wait weeks before we can begin this friendly wager?”

“I’ll speed up production and make this the bar’s primary cow,” Adam decides. “Should be a day or two, tops. Then he’ll fall behind quota.”

“Oh!” chirps Cecil. “You could have a sale.”

Adam flashes his teeth. “I like how you think. Listen to those whines. It’s like it can understand us.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” scoffs Carlos. “Cows only produce. Their feelings are irrelevant.”

Cecil coos in protest. He continues to pet at the twitching thigh. Inside the milking tube, Earl is growing aroused again at their threats. The Voice ensures multiple orgasms for this session. The same voice that had ensured this says, “Maybe they understand things like a common pet. Dogs are rather clever, aren’t they?”

“Not my dog at home,” Adam sniffs.

“I have to agree with Adam,” Carlos chuckles. “You have a habit of giving these beasts more credit than they deserve. Though I will admit that this one is pretty…”

“See!” peeps Cecil. “Imagine him as a cute little pet when he’s done here.” A pair of hands clap together, their owner weaving a possible ending for Earl. A barn stall and frequent visits. Being fed and drained before entertaining the workers and city visitors while his excitable owner explains the morals of keeping cows past their expiration date.

The promise of a lifetime of this routine pulls another orgasm through the ginger. His body tenses, and then relaxes as hormones flood his system. Drool slips freely from the side of his lips as his eyes flutter closed.

Adam sighs, reaching over to a previously discarded remote. He rises from his chair and circles the bar. By the cartons of chocolate milk and a puddle from the ice cream carton, he scoops up the cold anal beads from a bucket of ice and wordlessly begins inserting them into his cow. “I think you fail to see how much work a pet is. Unnecessary work, really. If they’re no longer putting out, put them out of their misery.”

“I notice you do have meat on your menu,” Carlos observes.

“Waste not, want not,” shrugs the owner as he fondles the remote. Immediately, Earl spasms.

“Oh, the poor drooling creature,” Cecil hums. “Then you don’t see any value in admiring the cow? Perhaps eye candy or…”

“Only you would play with your food,” Adam scowls with a modicum of fondness.

Earl whines meekly, exhausted but promised at least one more climax before they check on his progress via safeword. He himself doesn't know if he will need a break yet. He's riding the sensations, drunk on the position he has found himself in. Adam's new set-up keeps him pinned in the most perfect of ways. Carlos' milking machine is upgraded from the prototype. The beads inside of him adjust speed and even size unexpectedly. Finally, the Voice commands Earl to ride the edge of each climax for as long as he needs.

He is Earl Harlan, playing a game.

He is also a nameless fixture in Adam's shop, mined for his cum in an invasive way. A plaything for three men who don't care that he thinks he is a person, remembering his life from before.

Each have plans for him. Each will get a say in what happens to him. And for now, he is admired as he fails to stop himself from fruitlessly thrusting. He gurgles and spills again...saliva and semen. Sweat and sweetness. He drools as Cecil continues to run his hands over his body, both teasing and checking his body to ensure he's okay. He blushes as he's kissed on the cheek.

"Such a sweet boy..."

"He'll be sweeter on the grill!" Adam assures him, slapping Earl on the thigh hard enough for it to sting. "There are _better_ pets. Ones that don't drool. Now as I was saying..."

Cecil's Voice creates a jump in time after Earl exhaustively confirms his safeword. It makes him believes he has been aggressively pumped for several days. When he opens his eyes, there has only been moments between him and his most recent climax, yet he feels as if the orgasms have been continuous through several shift-changes and countless orders.

"And...I think we are all out,” drones a reply from the other side of the bar. “You also said yourself, any more hormones and it will affect quality."

Earl stares through Adam as the milk shop owner unstraps him. The freedom is what Earl had wished upon earlier, but now a Voice tells him he is worn. Broken and spent in body. He fights only by groaning as Adam scoops his naked form up and then lays him face down onto the bar.

Earl lies still as he is adjusted. An ankle is stretched out. His arms are left dropping over the side. Drool leaks from the corner of his mouth, still gagged by the bit. His tender cock is limp, close to Carlos. The scientist prods it analytically as he says, "I still think there are things we have yet to try to yield more."

"Quota has dropped and I really can’t afford to risk it, Carlos. I’m sorry. I’ll need to bring another animal in for tomorrow’s rush. Long weekend and all. We did offer our dear patron Cecil a shot at trying this poor excuse for a pet, but if I may...I want to at least show you what I propose. This leg here..." Earl feels his one limb jostled. "Take a cut here, from the knee to this middle part, and the muscle can be seasoned from the inside. Stitch it up to a post and it prevents wiggling when you cook him alive."

"That is unnecessarily mean," Cecil answers, nose wrinkling.

"It is the only way to get rare and fresh meat," counters Adam. "Grease him and dangle him over a flame to get this cock sizzling. It will milk itself for the last time as it is sliced off. They take a long time to saw through and if you gag him with an open mouth gag, I swear, the oral is the best you will ever get."

Earl feels himself hardening at the threat.

Cecil frowns, considering his options with an open mind. Perhaps...an open stomach.

Adam's hands knead into Earl's buttocks. A digit teases at the hole. "Cut open a hot pepper and even with a split leg the cow will buck like a bronco if you slide the thing in here. They often saw their own cocks off if you hold the blade right."

"I am interested," Carlos swallows, looking peckish. "I do have other cows I can experiment on. Cecil?"

Cecil considers. He runs a palm tenderly over the redhead's thigh. "He is a sweet boy..."

"There are other sweet boys," Carlos reminds him gently. "You always fall in love and end up throwing your pets away! It's far better to use this one, yes?"

Cecil bites his lower lip, running a hand through Earl's hair, tapping his nose with a finger. He smiles when the redhead winks his left eye. "I suppose I haven't taken part in a good roast in a long time..."

While weak, Earl imagines he drifts through the conversation, only now realizing the sudden shift in their decision making and what that spells for him. He begins to push up but there are three sets of hands to stop him. Adam pulls cord out of a drawer and Earl's wrists are soon strapped to the bar stools. His knees are pulled wide apart, exposing him. He lies on his front now, moaning weakly as Adam slaps his ass and inner thigh.

"I will fetch the oil," he announces.

"We may get one last milking from him," Carlos predicts, lifting a hip by plying at it with sharp nails.

"Cows are pathetic and turned on by slaughter. He sounds like he is upset but this is how it is meant to be."

Cecil leans close to the struggling man's ear and starts to create the **scene**.

Earl closes his eyes, gasping as he is suddenly taken outside for the slaughter. He is out where anyone can see his naked body. They carry him, then arrange him over a fire pit -- bent and heavily bound. He sobs around his gag, trying to call out for help. Trying to reason. He realizes slowly that help is not coming as others approach him with hungry looks on their faces while the tools are prepared. His eyes dart frantically at each figure. There are no allies for him here.

His limbs are squeezed and prodded. There is talk of different cuts and cooking times. His whimpers around his gag are met with bemused chuckling. Murmured comments regarding dumb, helpless animals. He feels greased fingers pushing into his ass. Soon a post will be fitted into him, slowly spitting him; his thighs strapped to it as he is mercilessly impaled. His prostate is teased and he will not be able to stop rocking back to help the process. This will encourage them to think that this is his rightful place.

They will negotiate which parts to take and when. Who will enjoy what, even as he lives and sobs. Adam curls a hand around Earl’s head, removing the gag long enough to shove an apple into Earl's mouth. His fingers are skilled at the task, avoiding bites and Earl’s attempts to clamp down or scream out a protest no one cares to hear. The wail goes smuffled as clenching teeth turn the attempt into frothing juice.

His balls are lovingly handled, squeezed and seasoned. He is so hard and maybe they will slide ring after ring up his member to allow the metal to absorb applied heat to promote even cooking. It will also keep his cock swollen and perfect while he bakes.

Earl shakes his head, trembling as oil is poured over his back. In the very corners of his mind he is aware that it is only massage oil, and yet…it is seasoning and sauce used to flavor his flesh. His skin will harden and cook, making it easier to peel off of soft meat to be chewed on later.

He imagines soft teeth sinking into him. Maybe he whimpers. Maybe he no longer makes sound. Perhaps he is savoured as his last thoughts melt into need. As he leaks juices before bemused predators who congratulate one another on the handling of their meal.

This is the tricky part, as Earl spirals around his climax. He can't move, believing himself bound tightly. Trussed up and helpless. Hurting. Cecil whispers carefully now, the Voice describing the fork that spears his tender ass and the noises that makes. The splurch of perfect flesh that steams. The crackle of cracked skin that flakes. How his buttocks are parted and analysed. Divided for eager plates. How he might still be alive, hanging on enough to moan. To twitch at the pain that he can only confuse as pleasure in his shock.

How they will eventually drop him without ceremoniously on the table to carve into his belly. He will stare up and see only hungry fondness as one of them stares down. They'll keep his head. They will enjoy it in different ways long after he is gone.

Can he feel the knife sliding up from his burnt pubic hair to his sternum? Can he imagine how his ribs might look from the inside? How Adam skillfully cuts out the heart, warm and red from his chest. His cock still oozes warm pre. It stands on its own as the trio knew it would.

They'll get greasy and bloody from him, the Voice teases. They'll lick his bones and nibble on his fingers.

Adam will take the cleaver and put it against his throat, just below the Adam's apple.

"I want to remember him," Cecil purrs. "The milk he made before he was useless. How he screamed and tried to escape. But really, this is how it was always going to be."

"You will forget him once we have another BBQ, though I think I'll have to work to outdo myself," Adam states. "I don't think any others lived as long as this one through the butchering."

"That improved the flavour," Carlos decides, taking the apple from gaping lips and biting into the other side. "I'm pleased he was so useful in that."

"Now get me that head," prompts Cecil. "I want to fuck it while I enjoy my share of that cock."

Earl cums before blacking out in bliss.

-

When Earl wakes up, he is wrapped tightly in a blanket warm from the dryer. He sits up a little, smiling as he finds himself being lovingly nuzzled by Cecil as he lays like a burrito. “How long did I sleep?”

“A few hours,” Carlos answers, pressing a cup of thick, scarlet herbal tea into Earl’s hands once they have been extracted from his cocoon. “Adam had to head off and pick up a few things but he should be back later.”

“Mm,” Earl comments as he starts to sip his tea, leaning back against the cushions behind him.

“How was it?”

Earl considers for a moment, looking up at the ceiling as he allows the tea to fill his mouth, the taste sinking into his tongue. “It was nice,” he finally answers. He hums happily as Carlos and Cecil climb into bed with him, hugging onto him as he allows himself to relax.


	10. The Dangers of Hunting Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An interrogation in the woods.

It is always dangerous for Elven members of royalty to go out hunting in the forests without soldiers to protect them. Earl learns this when he finds himself confronted by two humans while tracking for deer. A circlet rests on his head, ear-cuffs glittering in the light of the playroom. Both indicate his station within his kingdom.

“What are you doing here?” he demands, standing up straighter. He is taller than them both.

“Oh! And here we thought that it was going to be a chore looking for one of your kind!” Cecil says, smiling slowly as he turns to Adam. “And he’s a member of their royalty too, Adam!”

“Indeed,” the brunette agrees with a steady nod of his head.

Earl frowns, sensing danger in their words and posture. He shifts slightly on his feet, adjusting his hold on his weapons as he looks the pair over. “Humans are not allowed on Elven lands,” he warns, “I suggest you both take your leave before I am forced to make you.”

“We’re not going anywhere until we get what we want.”

“And what exactly is that?” Earl asks. The Old Ones do promote diplomacy, after all.

Cecil shows off his teeth, gesturing also to several long lengths of rope hanging from his pack, alongside the whips he and Adam are armed with. “Your people.”

Adam's smirk curves wider. "I'm going to enjoy you, Elf. You can ride my cock while we harvest your people."

"Mmmm," agrees his companion. "And by then you'll be asking for the privilege."

Earl growls, bracing himself in a defensive stance. His hands are clenched into tight and trembling fists. The nerve of these barbarians. He had been polite. He had also warned them. "Your blood will paint the flowers red so my people will remember how foolish you were to even try to take our kind!" he snaps. "The Earth itself will be nourished by your decaying flesh and bones, but I won’t be surprised if anything that grows from turns out rotten."

Carlos cocks an eyebrow at the threat, wondering when Earl had started to get so poetic during their games. He pans out with the camera from the sidelines, waving off the quick look Cecil tosses him. He’s filming. They’re catching Earl’s invested acting and Cecil can review the scene later.

"Do you think that if we bite the ear tips from your kind, they'll get off on it? Because I think those would be lovely to string chains across that will pull your wanton people to our cities..."

Earl springs, training blade flashing against the playroom’s spotlights as he avenges the honour of his noble race.

Adam dances aside, whip loops uncoiling. Both are experienced fighters.

Carlos gasps and pulls the tripod back, surprised by the speed of the two. It’s all he can do to keep the recorder steady as the two Scoutmasters start to battle, dulled knife being turned aside as it whittles the air with intimidating whooshes. A partnered blade appears in the brunet slaver’s hands as if by magic.

It is clear that the opponents are too close to one another to allow the whip to crack effectively.

"Don't leave any ugly scars!" Cecil calls over to Adam. "We can't do anything with a slashed up whore!"

“Then we keep him for ourselves," Adam calls, only partly distracted by the foray.

"Monster!" bellows Earl.

Carlos bites his lower lip, watching as Adam and Earl forcefully collide, grabbing onto each other. He watches as their bodies tense, muscles moving underneath flesh. A knife is knocked away, scattered against the wall. Adam sweeps Earl's legs out from under him, grabbing a fistful of his red hair to drag him down to the ground, pinning him wickedly.

Earl drives a knee at Adam's groin and nearly succeeds. Adam growls a warning, losing his own tool as he tries to maintain his grapple. He manages to say something to the effect of Earl having a real close look at his cock soon enough.

Earl's snarl is cut off by Adam's arm curling around his throat, cutting off air as the slaver holds him in a tight headlock. "Cecil! Grab the rope and bind this slut!" he hisses through gritted teeth. "Fuck, he's feisty...imagine what he can do in the bedroom!"

Earl scrabbles at the arm holding him, kicking and thrashing.

To an onlooker, Earl is slapping and clawing desperately. To Adam and Cecil, the ginger is acting, until he starts to code _/chartreuse/_ onto Adam's arm.

He only gets a few letters in, but immediately as he catches it, Adam loosens up his grip. Instead, he grabs onto his wrists, twisting them behind Earl’s back and pressing him down to the ground, allowing Earl to breathe.

They pause, both huffing, before Earl gasps a more agreeable "olive" that they all can hear. He gives Adam another second before he starts twisting and struggling anew.

Then, Cecil is helping. He pulls a leg out from its scrabbling purchase and as a loop twines around Earl's ankle, the Elf hisses as if burned.

"Yeah, you are not the only ones with magic, you lil’ bastard!"

“You pointy eared sluts are so obvious in your weaknesses!" Adam snorts, taunting the struggling redhead as he holds him tightly, giving Cecil the chance to bind him. "I really do want to have your ears pierced with silver now...lead chain connecting our acquisitions together while they're forced to march?"

Earl bites his lip, growing hard at the very idea.

A knee drives up between Earl's legs, pressing against the telling erection as Adam pulls Earl's wrists together and traps them against his ass. A rogue finger plays with the fabric over Earl's hole, creasing the fabric of his pants.

"Let's get some of that magic rope around his neck and if there are lengths left, I want a harness around his hips and thighs. I would like to see the effect the silver has there."

Earl swears and tenses up, mewling as he arches his back, both presenting himself and looking as if he were struggling with them again. The rope is loosely looped around his throat and he whimpers, his body shuddering as if falling under the effects of the metal-twined fibers. "Gods..."

"Hurts?" Adam teases. "Our seller told us there were other effects."

Adam winks at Carlos indicating who that seller would be. Carlos smiles inwardly, cheeks turning a dull color. He's always excited when the scenes involve him coming in later.

"Elves get confused. Pain and pleasure. Is this why your people are so popular at the auctions?"

"Mo...monsters!" Earl whines, his toes curling slightly, gasping as more rope is used across his body. "Oh Gods! It feels so warm..." he whimpers.

While Cecil scoots around Earl with the bindings, Adam continues to press Earl's layers against his ass. It rocks Earl into a grind against Adam's immovable knee. "We didn't even have to outnumber you in combat, I bet your kind secretly want to be slaves."

Earl jerks his head in protest, trying to still his hips.

Adam helps by hoisting Earl up by the finished chest harness, controlling him. The pressure doesn't choke Earl but a fist clumps into his hair to stay aggressive. "Drop his pants. I want that rubbing against his hips. Those fragile Elven hip bones..."

"He is hard already. Oh, and how tight those clothes. I know I promised you first dibs but let me try my new whip on him," Cecil begs.

Earl whines, licking his lips as he jerks his head. Each move pulls his hair. "No...please..." he flusters. He is no longer as confident as before. His cock is rock hard, body bound tight and under their control.

With their quarry’s arms secured behind, Adam drapes a possessive hand around Earl’s front where he can fondle the open chest of their prize. "I would normally tell you that I don’t share, but this one is going to put out. I can tell. Want to smack that bulge a few times?"

Cecil's eyes flash darkly and he bares his teeth, picking up a flogger from his pack. He lets the throngs unfold dramatically in front of the camera. They dangle down to brush against Earl's trembling shoulders.

"I am not afraid of..." the statement is silenced by leather and air.

Adam grunts happily as Earl stiffens in his arms from the first lash.

"Oh, did that smart?" Adam asks, cupping Earl's cock in a reach around before he exposes it again for his partner.

"Cow-cowards!" Earl mewls, squirming uselessly as Adam forces him still. They watch with very different anticipations as Cecil braces himself. Earl valiantly prepared by forcing himself to relax before he's struck again.

"Gods!"

"Your false Gods can't hear you," Adam whispers, rubbing him earnestly between blows.

Earl starts to melt into Adam's warmth, thrusting between strikes and seething as he is mocked for it.

“You can't tell the difference between hurt and want anymore, can you?" Adam hisses into an inhuman ear. "You love being a little slut, don't you? Your ears are going to be draped with silver...you're going to love cock."

"I'll see...see you...de..dead," Earl stammers.

Cecil pauses, dropping to his knees. He brings his mouth to Earl's constrained cock and breathes in. "Mmm, if I loosen this and free your hungry member...would you tell us where your people are?"

Earl stares down with dark pupils. "No...no I..."

Cecil drops a coil of unused rope between Earl's legs. "Then I’ll tighten this."

Earl squirms desperately as Cecil wraps Earl's cock under a pressure of knots. Then he resumes tightening the bindings around the skin of Earl's inner thighs.

Earl keens, sucking air through gritted teeth. The Voice, earlier, had told him this would sting. That he would feel a burn that tracks from the pretend-magic rope and how it would enflame his nerves on contact. Connecting straight to his cock. He shakes his head. "No...please!" he squeals, struggling not to thrust against the restraints. The tip of his erection glistens from the fat cords of rope.

Earl's ankles are hooked to his thighs and he is displayed on the floor. Buried by tight coils, his groin is ignored by the larger slave hunter draping over him. Adam inspects every look that crosses the dirty Elf's face as Cecil resumes slapping his leather into Earl's tender body.

The Elf’s eyes are half-lidded, helplessly enjoying the blows on his slowly reddening skin.

“As we’re so adamant on making him less of a likely sale, I want to take his ass," Adam tells his partner. He tugs on the rope securing Earl, wedging it tighter between tender legs.

Earl yelps, whining as he tries to readjust.

"You might have to," Cecil sighs. "I don't think sweet talk will work on this one. He’s not intelligent enough to just give up."

Earl is flipped over, Adam handling him like baggage with the criss crossing ropes. A hand scoops under Earl’s warm thighs, unkind against the warm skin as his face is ground into the carpet.

"Tell us where your people are hiding," Adam demands, cutting away fabric to expose Earl further. He smirks knowingly when the redhead shakes his head in refusal, moving over for Cecil to slip into place, opening a bottle of lubricant.

"I'll never talk!" Earl announces, staring back without success at what goes on behind him. His ass is exposed. It is shameful and he clenches, trying to hide himself where he is vulnerable even as a thumb kneads over the flesh.

“You're lucky we didn't need to use the hunting dogs to find you," Adam snorts, pouring slick lubricant against Earl's ass, watching as it pools between the crack. Cecil starts to work on preparing the redhead for a proper fucking. "We usually let them get first taste of their catches..."

Earl makes a muffled sound at that, managing to pass it off as horror rather than arousal.

"He's so tight!" Cecil praises, forcing a single digit inside of Earl and moving it around slowly. "He can't possibly be a virgin, can he?" he asks, cocking an eyebrow at Adam.

"Knowing how few their numbers are, maybe they just don't know how to fuck."

"Lucky they have us to educate them," Cecil smirks, crooking his finger. Earl's muscles spasm around it, not sure what to do with the invasion. "He's the Prince, huh? Think you make a good throne, Adam?"

"Stop..." Earl whines, his voice trembling miserably. "Olive you, please," he pleads, squirming and tightening around Cecil's invasive finger.

"Where is your kingdom hidden?" Cecil sweetly asks.

Adam sighs as if being asked to undertake a great burden when the Elf bites his trembling lips. Or perhaps the great burden is promised entirely for the Elf. Cecil applies two fingers, teasing with the tip of a third. "If our seller of secrets comes, I might have to fist you in order to prepare you for him..."

"You make me feel inadequate," Adam deadpans.

Earl thrashes, face red. He shivers, as he feels the ropes constrict. The knots around his cock are preventing him from thrusting against anything. "Please...I...I won't..." he insists, turning his head in defiance. "Just me...just have me.” He sounds breathless as Cecil idly fingers him.

Cecil looks over at Adam, fondly kissing the corner of his mouth. "You know that I appreciate you."

Adam flushes, amused by Carlos' deepening shade behind the camera. He doesn’t think it’s envy. He hopes it’s not. He can see the Scientist squirming in his seat, which is a good sign.

Then, Adam scoops up the harness around Earl's thighs, where rope touches ripped fabric. Together, the two humans hoist Earl up so Adam can sit beneath, readying his cock. “I’m not used to being a throne, or any kind of furniture or decoration,” he sighs. “That’s their job, filling the rooms of our buyers. And I hardly doubt one pathetic Prince will manage even that.”

"As chairman to the enterprise we run..." Cecil teases, paying no mind to the Elf's expression at the pun. Earl groans for several reasons now. They joke as if he is inconsequential. His ass shines from the lubrication and Cecil idly smears his slick fingers under the chin of their prize. "You'll be the first to mount him, but I’d like for him to taste me."

"Let him scream first. I know how that makes you hard. Let him watch how much he excites you. Let him know what hope he has with negotiation."

"I will bite!" Earl warns, jutting his chin firmly against the idea of being forced to taste either of his captors. "I will bite and I will take it off! I promise you!"

Adam knows he can reach around, prying Earl's jaw wide with his large fingers. How his digits will rest safely at the joint behind Earl's molars, giving Cecil both access and some friction if the Elf tries to make good on his promise. But that comes after the ride. The screaming is first, and Cecil is already whispering that Earl _will_ scream, having never felt such a force invading him before. Worse than the fingers. More than any secret Elf fantasy.

Earl is entranced by the Commands before he resumes struggling anew, snarling to mask his fear.

Adam pulls him close. Sets up. He slips in slowly, grunting as Earl throws his head back and lets out a howl, tightening wonderfully around the slaver’s erection.

"Fuck! So hot..." Adam whispers, rolling his hips forward.

"Please!" Earl warbles between barks of pain.

As Adam maliciously pulls Earl deeper, milking out the bleats, he feels Earl stiffen so as not to aggravate the mounting pressure.

"You are only halfway in," Cecil scolds.

Wide eyes peer at Cecil incredulously. A ragged voice stutters.

"I am savouring it. And did we finally silence the arrogant little beast?" Adam asks, giving Earl a jostle.

Immediately, the Prince tries to pull his hips up and only manages to impale himself further. The cry he lets loose encourages both of his captors, prompting Adam to do it again.

Cecil smiles, stroking Earl's cheek in mock tenderness. "You've never been penetrated before...this is your first time..." he whispers, smiling as Earl sobs and cries out louder at a sudden thrust inside of him. "How does it feel? Being a Prince that is used so easily?"

Earl's eyes stream as he is forced to bob with the help of Adam's bucking hips.

“You have failed, Prince. Tell us where your people are hidden. Tell us and we will put you in nice purple silks...and you’ll even have a ring on your finger before we sell you."

"Nnnnno," Earl cries into the room, trying to find a balance between squirming and not moving at all while Adam continues to manipulate him.

"I think that mouth can be asked to serve other things..." Cecil coaxes. His smile changes. He kisses Earl on the brow tenderly. "What colour rings do your people wear?" he asks.

"Olive..."

"Good…”

"But I will n...never...help..."

Earl is cut off by Adam both pulling Earl down firmly, and the poacher hooking his fingers into Earl's cheeks. A gag that tries to control Earl’s ability to grind and also silence silence. Earl chokes, a garbled whining sound as his posture is adjusted. Cecil chuckles, stroking the Prince’s fiery hair. He strokes his own erection with his other hand. "We tried to be nice."

Earl glares teary daggers, though the sharpness is lost with each twitch and bump Adam forces upon him. It is easy for the slave to attempt to bite down with every grimace, but he cannot free himself from the strong invasion of his lips. Adam’s hands keep his tongue flapping uselessly and his drool to pool invitingly at the corners of his mouth.

"Perhaps once both holes are full he'll be willing to volunteer information," Cecil whispers, leaning back. The hand in Earl’s hair caresses one of the rough hands against Earl’s cheek. They guide Earl towards the unoccupied slaver’s cock. "You can help no one but yourself, now..."

Earl mournfully wails before even that protest is stolen from him. Cecil gets part ways inside before Earl begins choking, trying to adjust to fingers and the unwanted object. The silver tongued mortal reaches around and latches onto the wrist's of his partner, trapping Earl's head between.

Then, as Adam grinds up, Cecil grinds in.

Carlos' breath catches. His eyes widen as he watches the pair being fucked so easily, bodies rocking in time with each other. "That’s..." he whispers.

Cecil, who has the best vantage, winks at their observer and suggests quietly that somewhere, a very enthusiastic scholar of secret races waits in his castle. Spending time in his laboratory with his "experiments", having a little personal time as he anticipates what morsel the hired poachers bring.

Gently added to the scene, Carlos holds the camera steady, touching himself with his free hand.

Overhearing the invitation, Earl envisions the influential and the sometimes immoral character sitting in a room surrounded by toys he has designed for a proper study of Elf anatomy. Of recommendations made by other wealthy buyers regarding Elf behaviours, especially those involving delayed orgasms and psychology.

Earl moans against Cecil as Adam rocks them all more frantically.

The moan is almost transferred to Cecil, grinding into Earl’s face and thoughtful warm wetness. "Your new Master...has a beautifully large cock," he whispers down to him. "You're going to love it."

Still thrusting, Cecil brings his foot up -- booted -- and starts to nudge at the bulge caught under a deliberate tangle of rope. "I imagine he won't let us sell you if you are the only one we find. And I'm up for letting his studies avenge us our planned bonus, though Adam isn't as big of a fan of that."

"Will you stop with comparing me to our boss?" Adam snickers. "Oh Elf, you will be missing your quaint Adam-chair when I leave. Even after I. Fuck. Your. Ass. Until. It. Is. Raw."

He growls the last into Earl's neck as he punctuates a nearing orgasm.

"Tell us where your people are hiding," Cecil hisses, pressing his toe against Earl's balls in warning.

The Elf whimpers, pressing back against Adam. Tears stick to his eyes. Drool oozes against his chin.

“Then we do this every day until we reach --” Adam fails to finish the thought, his climax taking him. He shudders and pulls at Earl, who clenches deliciously around him. Earl sobs with indignity as his tight opening is filled with human seed.

Cecil laughs breathlessly. “He likely wants to keep all of the attention to himself.”

He draws out a second later, the last few inches affected by a wickedly maneuverable tongue. Earl curls it around the retreating member and Cecil snaps back in with a violence that leaves Earl gagging on a second orgasm.

Adam tips the Elf’s head back to keep him from coughing or spitting. “Get used to that,” he huffs. “Your dinner is gonna be cock for awhile.”

“Unless you talk.”

Earl swallows, sputtering. “N...never.”

“Then we’ll strap you down for the night. And try again tomorrow,” Cecil sighs. “Maybe your people will come looking for you. We’ll leave you in a pretty pose for them to find before we ambush them. And if they don’t want you anymore and they don’t come looking, you’ve got a new purpose.”

Earl sniffles, still planted upon Adam. Face filthy and red. “Pl...please. My…”

“Your cock is where it belongs.”

“I’ll find a silver needle to sound it with,” Adam promises. “Our client designed one. You’ll get to meet him soon to thank him personally.”

Earl whimpers as he is positioned, needy and weak, in a frogtie. He sees trees and hidden traps. A cold forest that feels less like home. The whip handle is shoved in his mouth and tied around his head as fingers tease his ear tips and stroke his chest. A Voice describes the evening, a long affair of burning pain mixing into unreleased pleasure as the ropes aggravate and his cock is split by a metal insert.

When he is ready to be freed, he knows he can mumble his safeword. He would like to wait, just a little longer, though.

Adam and Cecil rise to wash up, and Carlos continues to control the camera. It is his first time being left alone with Earl in a few months, and the Voice tells him he can do this. That he can listen for safe words, appreciate the scene, and be the one to let Earl cum.

The Voice tells him he can do this.

The Voice tells him to be patient. Earl is perfect, after all. Worth the wait. A _very_ good investment.

Carlos listens.


	11. Where Sparta Still Reigns, but Not For Much Longer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a longer chapter and it's also four-thirty in the morning. Should have caught most of the grammar things. This was fun so please enjoy.

Earl dices the carrots into oblong shapes, listening to the weather and being grateful that the crisis of the day is happening more in his kitchen than in town or Cecil’s station. Earl’s boyfriend returns to say, “Listeners, we’re back. And I have just had intern Maureen pass me this message she got from her mother. Oh, and before I say anything, **I want a particular sous chef by the name of Earl Harlan to momentarily stop listening to this progra** \--”

The radio goes silent. Earl gets a trapezoid carrot carved, scooping it up and tossing it into a pot. He plans to create sharpened posts of celery to add to the dish.

He feels eyes staring at him. He glances up.

The dishwasher is gnawing her lip, holding in a reaction with little ability to.

Earl quirks a brow, glancing down. He hasn’t lost any fingers today. There is nothing on his apron. He’s remembered pants.

He peers back and she’s shaking her head. “It’s nothing,” she mouths. Her eyes scan over to the radio as she retreats from his inquiry.

Earl glances at the radio, too. It’s silent. He is not concerned.

Should he be concerned?

He is _**not**_ concerned.

He shrugs, before returning to crafting deadly vegetables to go with the abstract ones.

\--

“You should go on your break,” Earl is told.

He is preparing the special to flambe when his prep cook bumps into him, indicating that xe should take over. Xey have a habit of physically taking over the required space to accomplish that task.

“My break’s in an hour,” Earl argues.

“Not when you have company,” xe chuckles. It’s the same flushed amusement that the dishwasher has been battling. Perhaps it is contagious.

Earl checks himself internally. He feels fine. The radio began running the programme after Cecil’s show an hour ago and if there had been any last minute events affecting the citizens of Night Vale, Cecil would have said something. Or warned him in code at the end of…

Earl can’t remember the end of the show.

“I have company?”

Pieces fall together in hesitant patterns. The chef backs away from his work to the swinging door keeping the unwelcome world from the kitchen. Standing by the reservationist are two of Earl’s boyfriends.

“Is...is Carlos okay?”

“He’s waiting on us,” Adam answers.

“Let’s go!” Cecil chirps.

“I’m...guys. I’m on shift,” Earl needlessly states. He’s dressed. They have his schedule carved into the calendar at both Adam’s home and the one he shares with Carlos and Cecil.

“It’s covered,” Adam states.

Earl shakes his head. “It’s the first Woeful Wednesday. I can’t leave the staff to handle it alone.”

“It’s good,” Cecil assures. “I mentioned on my show that it’d be hip to miss out on the first of LeShawn Mason’s Woeful Wednesdays, so that listeners can feel woe at home.”

Earl drops his jaw. “Cecil, you can’t…” he hisses.

“It’s fine,” Adam announces, stepping forward and wrapping Earl’s arm. “You’ve got something else to do.”

“My boss is going to flip.”

“I **Spoke** with him, it’s good,” insists Cecil. “Carlos is waiting.”

Earl is reluctantly pulled from his post. The large volcanic idol manning the front doesn’t judge the trio any more than usual. “You shouldn’t use your Voice to pull me from work.”

“Only this once,” Cecil chimes. “And it’s an emergency.”

Before Earl can worry, Adam ruffles his hair. “I can’t wait to see your face…”

Earl is concerned.

The sunny afternoon swallows them.

\--

The shadows swallow them.

“We have to go on the subway!” Cecil explains. It is the most information Earl has managed.

With anyone else, he could have used his Eternal Scout talents to pry any secret free. Both Adam and Cecil are immune to the tricks he is willing to try, though. Earl only takes the stairs going down because they offer a reprieve from the blinding orb in the sky.

Earl is still wary of it.

He is also wary of his boyfriends.

Carlos stands at the bottom of the stairs. He tosses a wave. “You’re right on time! I think. I’m pretty sure,” he adds. At his feet is a gym bag.

“Can I trust you to tell me what’s going on?” Earl asks. He pulls his hat from his head, ginger hair bunching against a hairnet.

“As a scientist, it’s my job to tell you what’s going on,” Carlos recites. “But as your boyfriend, no. That would ruin the surprise.”

Earl stands on the dusty platform with the usual sticky concrete. There are a few commuters. Some pass their eyes over the four men. There are withheld snickers. Flushing cheeks.

Earl sighs. “Are you planning to use an empty car and the subway’s habit of prolonging our concept of time and distance to fuck me, because I’m really supposed to be at work and not entirely in the mood.”

Cecil’s eyes light up. “Actually, that’s a good idea.”

“Cecil...Ceec. I love you. And I know I have a lot of varied tastes and they involve the allusion to public humiliation...but I’m not feeling _this_.”

Adam slaps him on the back. “It’s not that, so don’t worry. If you trust me…”

“I don’t.”

Adam delivers a mock scoff of indignation.

Cecil pouts. “Early, I wouldn’t have pulled you from cooking if it wasn’t worth it.”

Carlos nods. “I think it’s a great opportunity, so...if that means anything…”

Earl peers at each before nodding. “Very well. I’m at your mercy. What’s in the bag?”

“Surprise number two,” Carlos grins.

The sound of a car approaching on tracks precedes what constitutes as surprise number one. Light floods the darkness. Safe, manufactured, artificial light. A box traveling at high speeds stops abruptly, groaning with metal and physics. Ozone and brimstone waft in on the air currents that accompany the strange subway car.

The doors slide open. A few patrons step off, not screaming. Not desperately glad to finally escape. Rather, they depart with amused looks upon their faces.

Cecil clutches at Earl’s apron. “Get ready to strip.”

Earl is pushed forward before he can say anything.

There are Spartans on the train.

\--

THERE ARE SPARTANS ON THE TRAIN!

There are men, mostly naked, wearing robes of scarlet draping over their hips. Arm bands of gold, with weapons sheathed and shields knocking against their seats.

There are Spartans.

Earl stares.

Carlos drops his own duffle bag. “We have a minute,” he announces.

“What do you mean?” Earl asks, voice high. Breath caught. He’s staring. Also, “There are Spartans.”

A few of the men grin. There are four on this car. Through the sliding glass doors to the next car, Earl sees others. Are they a performance piece? Are they travelers caught in time?

“A minute,” Adam exhales. “We can do that.”

Then the former Scoutmaster is pulling at Earl’s hairnet. Carlos unzips the bag and Cecil begins unbuttoning Earl’s uniform.

“What…”

“We’re dressing you. But tastefully,” Cecil prompts.

“This group of men are passing through. Doing a ‘Spartans on the Metro’ thing,” informs Carlos. “We thought you’d want to be part of that.”

“It was sudden,” admits Cecil. “We managed to get a few things together on short notice. You can thank...well, I’m not allowed to say who because they don’t exist. But...well…”

The trio slip Earl’s top off. A few of the commuters giggle. One claps gently. The Spartans cock their brows and smirk. Earl is flushed, but excited. Horrified, and honoured. His boyfriends did this. And...and THERE ARE SPARTANS ON THE TRAIN!

With controlled movements, Earl is stripped free of all of his original layers and sheathed in a similar costume. His dignity is protected by calculated cover. Only his boyfriends intimately see him, though the members of the commute know that he had been fully stripped. He peers at them cautiously.

There are faces blushing like his. He gets a thumbs up and a few approving nods. Cecil beams and Adam challenges anyone to comment in a derogatory manner. None do.

“Ten seconds,” Carlos recites.

The boys stuff Earl’s original clothes into the gym bag.

“Early,” Cecil instructs. “The subway should...should keep you for just a few hours. If you end up anywhere that isn’t Night Vale, go to the nearest truck stop. These guys know you’re a big fan of that era so feel free to impress them. Have fun. You look good. Don’t be tired at the end because your helots are at home, waiting for you.”

A chaste kiss is planted on Earl’s lips. He returns it. “Thanks.”

“When you return,” Carlos squeezes Earl’s arm. “Be worn from the battlefield.”

Adam winks as he departs. “And hardly paying attention, soldier.”

The three step out just as the doors start to close. The subway train lurches. Earl’s belly does too at the implications. He stands in public, conscious of his attire. Of the skin that shows. The other men are fit, and gorgeous. Built.

“So...your radio guy boyfriend says you’re a Scoutmaster?” one of the men calls.

Earl straightens. They had, well...been kissing in public. He doesn’t want to expect the worst, so he hopes for the best. “I am.”

“Cool, my kid’s in Scouts. Does your troop have the Ancient Grecian History badge?”

Freckles flicker as Earl beams. “I was the first in my troop to earn it.”

\--

The Spartans are great. Some are from different cities and towns. They had woken up with the urge to cosplay and ended up on the Night Vale subway. So far, they’re enjoying the trip. A few are curious and ask questions about his relationship. Most, though, challenge or add to his knowledge on the region. One is a professor at a college that specializes in Antiquity.  

They pose with travelers and debate the circumstances that may have allowed the Spartans to continue their lifestyle. By the time the train stops for the evening, Earl has traded contact information and taught at least three riders about a culture they had never heard of. It’s pretty rad.

He is invited for drinks at a pub. Then, he needs to lead the men there. After a pint of wheat-free beer, Earl notices that half of his companions have left. One moment they are present. The next, they are absent. He can only hope they have returned home somehow. He settles the tab, finding the barkeep unconcerned with the missing men.

The war is over, and Earl is ready to march home.

Moonlight shines on his bare shoulders. He looks down at his new costume shield, smiling a little to himself as he approaches the house. He keeps the large shield low, as if its weight is too much for him. He drifts. Droops his eyelids. Relaxes. Sags. It is no longer time for posture and discipline. He is safe and home and tired.

\--

Meanwhile and backwards...

While Earl had been away, Cecil had been **Whispering** to Carlos; filling his head with imagined offenses that the Spartan warrior has committed towards the two helots he has owned for many years. There is talk of nights of orgasm denial and days of forced drunkenness and humiliation.

Things to make Carlos less likely to show Earl kindness.

They are careful about it. They have plotted out specific sentences involving the Voice and contingency Commands in case Carlos slips into his repressed role of “Kevin’s good pet”. Carlos has been well for months, though. And Earl likes to be safely mistreated.

Their experiment involves creating pretend offenses.

Earl shuts the front door behind him with a soft click, turning to lock it with a simple twist of the metal. He thinks he can sense someone coming up from behind but he's a soldier and safe at home. He drops his shield against the wall and turns unawares.

Suddenly, a felt bag drapes over his head.

Earl staggers into the door, throwing his arms out to protect himself. His cloak is grabbed, then whipped around the blinded warrior.

Cecil is quick to set the scene. He braces against the door beside the beset Earl, Speaking to him of his prowess and strength as a warrior of Sparta. He is the owner of two helots that he has managed to subdue and bend to his will easily, through humiliation and threats of death should they ever defy him. This makes Earl’s body tense up, starting to believe his position and place as a superior of some kind. Cecil then starts painting images of an Athenian spy sneaking into his home while he is away, convincing his two Helots to help in his capture to earn their own freedom and revenge. Adam is the spy. Cecil and Carlos watch their master become tangled. Then, a cold blade rests against Earl's breast. The tip stalls him. It slides up to his exposed throat.

"Kneel," Adam states, disguising his voice to a lower decibel.

"I am a soldier of Sparta," Earl warns, muffled by the sack.

"You are whatever I say you are," Adam snorts, pressing just a little harder on the blade, drawing a small bead of blood to the surface. "On your knees, _now_."

Earl trembles in rage, gritting his teeth as he blindly cannot glare. He sinks down to his knees, yelping as the joints strike the hard floor. "You will not succeed in this plan of yours!" he warns.

"And why not? It's worked so far." The blade stays put. Then ropes loop around Earl's wrists and before he can resist, his arms are cinched and pulled down. He feels a pair of bodies next to him controlling him.

"My slaves, if he is alone..."

"I think you are the one who is alone..." Adam chuckles. His steps near and slips the weapon against the underside of the Spartan's chin. "I have had days with them. We have planned for your return."

Earl's eyes widen at this as the bag is removed from his head. His hair fluffls as he looks at the pair, bewildered and betrayed. "Have I not been kind to you both?" he demands. "Did I not treat you both well?!"

"A nicely treated slave is still a slave," Carlos reminds him.

Earl starts to argue but then Adam is beside him. The knife tucks intimately close. Adam grasps his hair, forcing him forward. "We can hear your thoughts when we have you doubled over and aware of what being a slave means," he growls.

"You cannot do this!" Earl argues angrily, eyes flashing. "I'll see you executed for this!"

"And how can I be killed when I won't be found?" Adam counters. He looks to Cecil and Carlos. "Get this whore ready."

"I am not a wh--"

As the knife at his throat had failed to encourage silence, Adam applies it to the gaping yap of the soldier.

"Saliva or blood," Adam states. "I will fuck it either way."

Earl mewls, lips closed carefully around the blade of the knife. He starts to suck on it, growing hard at the danger looming as he does so, nostrils flaring.

"And we each shall have a turn?" Cecil asks, sounding hopeful at the idea.

"Who has been enslaved the longest?" Adam asks. Carlos points at Cecil. "Then you shall go first." To Carlos. "You second, if that is fair?"

The darker skinned slave nods his head at this arrangement, watching as Earl continues to suckle on the knife, biting his lip at how careful the redhead is with the action. "As long as he listens, he'll be okay?"

"I promise," Adam purrs, reaching down to stroke Carlos' hair.

As Adam does this, Earl shifts back and clamps down on the knife. It allows him to pull the blade from Adam's hand and he skillfully drops it and twists so his own arm can catch it.

Before the helots can counter, Earl has ground his weapon into the rope at his wrist.

Adam snarls and kicks Earl in his armoured belt. Earl folds over and tumbles.

Carlos watches with wide eyes as Earl and Adam have another fight for control, flinching at the way the two Scouts battle one another. It is hard for him to watch the way they fight without becoming worried. The way they gnash their teeth and lash out, bruises forming on their exposed flesh…

Adam and Earl enjoy the sparring. They play with restraint while showing off their prowess. Both know it is painfully easy to cause damage. Pretending to but not committing, being effective while holding back, THAT is a more impressive feat.

In the end, Adam is victorious, slamming Earl back to the ground, holding his head down with one open hand. Earl is defeated fairly. His attempt to honour himself is intact. Both know a serious skirmish would end differently, but for now they act like characters. One victorious and angry. The other hurt and more desperate. Earl grits his teeth as Adam twists his arms behind his back, binding him once more, tighter this time.

"You truly are a Spartan," Adam laughs, shaking his head. "But it's too bad that Athenians are far smarter!"

"Bastard..."

"Give me that pole," Adam demands. "We'll keep his knees apart." Earl scrambles to make this difficult but as Adam leans upon him, he pulls Earl's ass down with a few fingers against his crack. Carlos, eager to impress his new ally, quickly produces the stick and Cecil knots the knees tightly.

"Please..." Earl cries out.

"Your slaves don't care," Adam snorts, giving Earl's ass a sharp slap that pulls a gasp out of him. "Why should they? You owned them, did you not?"

"I protected them..."

"From who? Yourself?" Adam taunted.

"From everything! They are helots and..."

"Not real people," mocks Adam. "They will feel real enough inside you. Boys, no...my equals...shall we drag him into his quarters?"

"Please!"

Cecil is the first to place his hands on Earl, using his abnormal strength to yank him up by the ropes. "Come on then..."

They are careful not to push Earl's helplessness too far. Carlos loses himself in such scenarios, suddenly becoming overprotective at times when he perceives Earl as an innocent being tormented unfairly.

Earl gasps his affirming safeword as he is dropped on the bed. He is pushed into the blankets while his ass is exposed.

"Being penetrated makes you the weaker one, does it not?" Adam chuckles. "How often have you fucked them?"

Earl blushes, whining softly, grinding his erection against the blankets. He stops when Adam slaps his inner thigh, making him yelp and hold still. "Answer!"

"Ngh...I..."

"Several times a day," Carlos offers in answer. "Especially after battle."

"Then I think you don't deserve to cum unless you have been filled several times," Adam judges.

Earl is forced to raise his hips, mewling as Carlos strokes his erection once. A warm metal ring slides over to trap his cock. "Please..."

"You could have freed us," Carlos reminds him softly. "You showed no mercy mounting us for hours."

"That is where you belong," Earl sobs.

"Then stop us," Cecil murmurs.

The older slave watches as Earl struggles, unable to free himself. He snorts, undressing before climbing onto the bed, preparing himself as he opens a bottle of lubricant.

"I think he'll need something to keep him quiet, too," Adam muses. "Why not feed your former Master your cock so he gets a taste of it?" he asks Carlos.

"You are making a mistake," Earl growls.

Adam smugly draws out an open mouth gag and forces it on the soldier.

"You made them quietly take your seed. No more words from you."

Earl growls, glaring furiously as he watches Carlos undress as Cecil places his hands on his hips.

Carlos strokes himself slowly as he climbs onto the bed, becoming fully erect in the palm of his hand, biting his lip as Earl shakes his head. "You made me work so hard," Carlos murmurs. "And then you wouldn't say anything nice. Not a word of praise or thanks for all of my efforts."

Cecil adds, "I enjoyed sleeping with you, but you would leave for long periods. And I would wait. I am tired of having to wait for you. I want you whenever I want you."

"And where we go, you can have him. I promise you both homes and access to him. I'll need some time to have our Oracle take his military secrets, but I promise that the Oracle will leave him feeling like _he_ was always _your_ helot."

Earl mewls at the idea, drooling both due to his gag and the sight of Carlos' thick cock so close to his open mouth. He grunts when he feels lubricant being poured between his ass, mewling anew as Cecil gently readies him first with his fingers.

Carlos reaches down and grabs a good fistful of red hair, tightening his grip before forcing his head back to look at him. "You always...played with him more," he whispers. "Was I not good enough for you? You always forced me to drink that pure wine, mocking the way it made me so drunk and clumsy...you _never_ let Cecil endure such humiliation."

Earl whines, shaking his head as Carlos rolls his hips forward, penetrating his open mouth.

Adam kneels at the edge of the bed, content to watch as the slaves glance at one another to synchronize their first thrusts. He finds it charming. While Cecil has rights to go first, he shares. Carlos, though, still seeks confirmation and direction when he asks, "all the way in at first?"

"Slowly," Cecil purrs. "Get a feel for this territory we are discovering."

Earl whines, one eye winking his consent, especially for Carlos.

Carlos is careful despite the imagined grievances and wrongs Earl has done to him, all too aware of his size and the risk of choking someone with it easily. He rocks his hips forward slowly, matching Cecil's own controlled thrusts inside of Earl's ass.

The redhead moans and lets out soft strangled sobs as he's fucked and impaled between two penises. They rock him back and forth, impaling him. His eyes flutter closed, sobbing softly as Carlos strokes his hair, fucking his mouth steadily to match Cecil's own confident thrusts.

"What kind of man endures this," teases Adam. "Spitroasted between former slaves. I'm sure your regiment would talk..."

Earl groans, thrilling Carlos' member with his vibrations. He can manage to breathe from practise. He imagines himself gagging, though. Tensing and relaxing around Cecil in rhythms. He tightens around Cecil's cock briefly, making the Voice yelp and slap the side of his ass in punishment. Slowly, he curls his tongue against Carlos, drawing a soft moan from him.

"He likes it," Cecil hums, starting to pick up the pace of his thrusting. "Such a slut..."

"Don't read too much into it. If he thinks he can win you over with a bit of mouth movements..."

"I can't wait to see Athens," Cecil grunts as he relishes the hold around his girth.

"Athens can't wait to see you. And our dear soldier...ALL of you..."

Carlos blushes, running both hands through Earl's hair as if in reward for his tongue usage. "And Athens...will remember our part in this plan?" he gasps softly, pulling out before he cums. Earl's face is painted white with semen.

Adam rises to climb behind Carlos. He kneads dark shoulders enticingly. "As personal favour to me, Athens will take care of you. I'm adored there and in all my years managing Athens' fears of Sparta, I have only wanted one thing. You both have given it to me."

"Our Master," Cecil quickens his pace.

"Your _former_ master," corrects Adam. "Now _our_ toy."

Carlos leans back against Adam, breathing heavily as he tries to compose himself. He turns his head, kissing Adam on the lips softly, as if in gratitude for the offered freedom and change in status.

Cecil lets out a squeal as he leans forward, hunching over Earl before filling his ass with semen.

Earl is pinned in place, still. He feels warm and sticky cum oozing from his sore ass. He can't help but rut into the bed, and it does not help. The ring is constraining. He grunts and whines and drools, unintelligibly crying at his helplessness.

"Flip him," Adam darkly orders.

Cecil pulls out and nods, spent but eager to see this through. Earl is dropped onto his back and then Cecil is pinning Earl's spreader bar to the bed posts while Adam takes a hook and connects it to a leather cord. This cord he ties around Earl's balls and cock before connecting it above. Earl has to lift his hips to keep from painfully pulling his groin.

"That is a beautiful thing," Adam praises. "I think your former slaves will kiss it while it stretches. And I'll sit on your face and let you taste my well deserved thrusts, you Spartan slut."

Earl's eyes flutter at the sudden pain, mewling as he lifts up his hips in a wicked display, as if to save himself from the pain of the unforgiving ropes. He whimpers, freckled face streaked with dry cum.

They let him adjust to the change, left eye winking a brief code assuring them he’s present and good to continue. Heavily panting, he looks up to watch as Carlos trails his kisses down the sides of Adam's neck, gently fondling the brunette with the palm of his hand. Adam rubs encouragingly at Carlos' thigh as they kneel on the bed.

Cecil idly admires the trapped cock, stroking a finger up and down it. Especially around the lip of the hated ring. Cecil leans in to slide a tongue over testicles that are turning a darker colour. Pinched and prodded, they pull up like Earl's pelvis. He cannot thrust anymore. Cecil checks their circulation to avoid any actual damage, smiling in approval when they are safe.

"I am going to fuck his mouth from above," Adam huskily states. "But Carlos, you can take my ass."

The Outsider blushes at the offering, nodding his head. "I...you're sure of this?" he asks. He's never penetrated Adam before and the idea makes him worry about the potential for harm. He still finds himself nervous about his size, especially with someone he’s never been with before.

Cecil mewls encouragement, mouthing Earl's testicles hungrily, and loudly on them.

"You will be careful, I know," Adam hums. "If you don't want to, don't. But I bet you feel so good." Adam straddles over Earl, smirking.

Earl winks again. He then acts indignant and scared. Gods, that _is_ a turn on.

Carlos bites his lip but nods his head as Cecil sits up and crawls over to him, accepting Cecil's help with becoming hard again. The radio host pours lubricant onto his cock and starts to stroke him.

"I can do it," he promises.

"Take all the time you need," Adam purrs. "This soldier can wait all night."

Carlos coos when he hears Earl let out a muffled wail at Adam's words, toes curling as he shifts, causing the ropes to tighten just enough to force him to immediately stop moving.

"You're going to make our new friend feel so good," Cecil whispers into Carlos' ear, giving it a soft nibble once he's completely hard and slick again. "My lovely friend..." he purrs, “you are safe and careful...we all trust you.”

Carlos nods and shifts to straddle Earl just behind Adam, humming as he rests a hand on the other's hip, waiting for Adam to make the first move.

Adam adjusts so his cock fits the open mouth gag. It presents his ass and he nods. "Go ahead, Carlos. All yours..." He is surprisingly excited about this arrangement. Even more than he had originally expected to be. He is smearing pre onto Earl's unwilling tongue.

Cecil watches carefully, as arranged, so that their motions don't hurt Earl's pulled cock.

Carlos nods, gently reaching down to guide his hard member against Adam's hole. There is a moment or two of adjustments before he starts to push forward, gasping softly in pleasure in doing so. Lashes flutter closed as he takes his time at first, careful not to hurt either of them.

"Oh...that is good," Adam exhales. He drops a sweaty hand to Earl's brow, letting Carlos work his way in before Adam slips deeper into the jaw left open for him. A tongue flaps against him. He has never been fucked like this but the feeling...

Carlos moans, rolling his hips forward. Adam's words of praise are enough to boost confidence and courage, urging him to actually start fucking Adam properly now that the initial fear and worry of tearing was over. "Oh Gods...you're so tight..." he pants, resting his chin on the brunette's shoulder, huffing hot air.

Earl groans, his tongue put to full work on Adam's invasive erection.

Cecil smiles, his lips shining against the swelling, sensitive skin they abuse. He nibbles gently, humming loudly against Earl’s testicles.

Earl's chest is pressed down by his aggressors but he keeps his hips arched, a feat made necessary by the entrapped cock.

Adam does his best to prolong his climax but Earl has his say by keening and lapping with a clever tongue. Adam cums, pulling out late with Carlos still deep inside of him. Earl turns his head to cough up the frothy cum and saliva. He looks woefully degraded, though his lips are quirking.

"Ohh, hah...keep...keep fucking me. Carlos..."

"It’s going exactly as you planned it," Cecil praises. "We stuff our master with a toy and let him think about his position, next?"

"While we enjoy his private baths," Carlos huffs, focused on finishing with Adam.

"Maybe if he is lucky...we return tonight," Cecil adds. "Let his penis down then. Or, I could whisper of the minotaur that is in Athens. Let him dream of its visit and the true purpose of his capture..."

Earl wails, hips quaking.

Carlos hugs Adam around his middle, panting as he starts to thrust faster and harder into the man. He mewls into his ear, cumming inside of him several moments later. "Gods...how...how was that?" he pants, slowly pulling out of Adam, mindful of any damage he could cause the other.

"I want to lie and never get up...in a good way,” Adam promises, turning his head to smile at Carlos.

Cecil crawls over, tugging at blankets. "Early?"

Earl mewls softly, turning his head to look at the Voice, patiently waiting for the removal of the gag and the ropes.

When he has his mouth again, he cracks his jaw before asking for his cock to be lowered just an inch. He can still tug it for effect. "I would love a minotaur scene?" he puffs.

Cecil smiles as Adam obliges him, nodding his head. "Why did I think so?"

Cecil starts to **Speak**.

"You are safe and you remember your safewords. You are Earl Harlan and you are in control. You will not forget. You are also a Spartan and you are alone in the room. You have been smuggled into Athens, left trussed and gagged in a cart with your cock teased and your needs prolonged and mocked. Your helots have turned on you for the promise of being named free in Athens. No one back in Sparta will know of what has happened to you.

“Now you have been left in a room that you can only guess is a temple. You expected your captors to use you again but they have abandoned you in their favourite pose. A metal bit is tied firmly in your mouth, yanking on the corners of your mouth, hurting your teeth. Your hips are forced to thrust up permanently as your sensitive cock is tied up. Strung tight. Your ass is open and your arms bound. Your muscles strain. You want to push your pelvis but it hurts.

“You think they have left you for the night and you weep, allowing yourself to show weakness in your loneliness. But then...something heavy steps in, disturbing the dark silence. You smell musk and animal stink. Hooves spear the ground and a pair of glowing eyes fall upon the gift..."

Earl's eyes roll, clouding over as his pupils become blown at the very idea. He mewls softly, throwing his head back as his mind takes him far away, forcing him to endure the indignities of the beast's sexual appetite.

The beast approaches, slowly. Each step is heavy. Foreboding. Earl falls still, his whole body exposed. His poor penis pulled up and his limbs trembling. He wants to stay still. Instinct tells him to be silent and motionless.

It sees him. Regards him. Breath snorts out from its nostrils. Then, with a deadly nail sheathed in a massive hand, it twangs the leather cord that tautly dangles from above. Earl can't help but wail at the ache that produces. The monster chortles, deep and wicked.

Earl moans as he feels the beast's hot breath brush over his tightly bound and abused cock. The beast is sniffing him, learning his exposed and ready body. A thick and rough thumb slips between his cheeks, teasing his anus. Earl chokes on a sob. The thumb is hard and cruel. His ass is pinched and his balls squeezed.

He cannot see well and moving aggravates his member. He recalls what he has heard of minotaur size and whines pitifully into the dark cavernous space. A coarse tongue runs along the underside of his cock and he cries as the Minotaur shifts, something far thicker than sharp fingers pressing against his anus. Strong hands grab onto his legs and he is given only a moment to brace himself before the beast starts to thrust forward, penetrating him deeply.

He bellows as the creature shakes him with its body. His cock and balls erupt in pain, buzzing as much in protest as his hole. He feels as if he will be split apart. He feels as if he will be ripped asunder. Hands curl around his hips and asscheeks, bruising him. It loves his tender flesh and its weakness.

It pants heavily against his ear, fucking him steadily. The beast has patience with him, running its hands over his writhing body. "Mine..." it rumbles, grunting as it fills Earl with impossibly hot semen.

Earl screams, imagining agony. Inside him. At the core of his needy cock. Dull teeth clamp down over his shoulder, breaking skin. He is then dropped, his limbs dumped as the beast continues to pin him with one hand. The other toys with the Spartan's balls as it sniffs and gnaws its way down his torso.

Steam seeps up from Earl's sore ass. Earl pleads for mercy tearfully, his words muffled by the metal gag spreading his jaw.

Slowly the scene is washed away; Cecil's Voice reminding him of who he is and where he is. The imagined pain starts to fade, bruises and throbbing pain drifting away to nothing. When it is finished, Earl opens his eyes, finding himself being held by Adam.

His penis is freed, spilling over as soon as it is untied and the ring is mostly pried free. He shakes and cries out, overstimulated.

"Earl, your words. What do you need?" Adam coaches.

"Pre...pressure. Pl...please..."

Cecil hands over a folded towel and they drape it over Earl's cock. Adam lifts a leg so it can splay over the towel. He adds weight carefully, providing the pressure Earl needs this way. Earl's hips still buck and twitch. His eyes are unfocused and cloudy.

Carlos worriedly watches, chewing on his bottom lip. Did they push things too far? Was Earl going to have another seizure? What if..?

Cecil **Narrates** how Earl accepts water. Chews on a chocolate bar. Slowly returns to them and reality. Well...as much of a reality as Night Vale can afford.

Carlos nervously strokes Earl's head, kissing his temple tenderly. "Earl..." he whispers. "You'll be okay...we're here for you." he promises.

Slowly Earl's body starts to stop trembling and he nods shakily, turning his head to kiss Carlos in return. "I know," he agrees. "That wasn't...It was nice this time. Wanted to stay in the...in the scene."

Adam tuts. "You didn't have the stamina for that, Early. Maybe next time?"

Earl makes a faint noise of annoyance, turning as if prepared to argue further. He is stopped, however, by firm hands pressing down against his shoulders, giving much needed smothering. It grounds him.

"You were pushing yourself too far, love. You'll be okay," Cecil promises, stroking sweaty red hair.

"We don't want you having a seizure," Carlos gently agrees.

Earl murmurs something that gets lost behind a shudder and a sigh. He is already drifting off, despite his best efforts to remain awake enough to argue longer with them.

Cecil chuckles, which calms Carlos down and drives away his concern that Earl had pushed himself too far. "Good night, Early," Cecil coos, helping him to rest his head on the pillow. He runs the back of his hand down Earl’s cheek, smiling before looking up at Carlos, reaching out to take him by his perfect hair and pull him in for a kiss. “You were wonderful tonight.”

“I was?” Carlos asks.

“You were perfect,” Adam promises.

Carlos blushes and bows his head, adjusting the sheets and blankets so that all three can curl up and rest around Earl.

 

 


	12. The Dog's Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some pets need extra discipline.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer** against particular mentions of depravity -- Pet-play, an enema, and referenced bad-ends in this chapter.

Cecil:  _Adam. You on the road? Vry far?_

3:30

Adam:  _Pulled into LLLinoise hour ago. Whats up._

3:34

Cecil:  _Wanted to apologize for Friday._

3:23 

Adam:  _Its fine, Cecil._

3:34

Cecil:  _Earl felt bad, but it was my fault for not explaining._

3:24 

Adam:  _Said its fine. I understand._

3:35 

Cecil:  _Has a thing about being called good pet. Reasons._

4:24

Adam:  _I know. Its ok._

3:36 

Cecil:  _Weird that we remember the first petplay. Carlos says it did not happen._

4:21 

Adam:  _Carlos is a smart guy._

3:36 

Cecil:  _I know, right! There are still toys from that game in your hard._

2:49

Cecil:  _*yard._

2:20

Adam:  _Heh. ;)_

3:36

Cecil:  _Pfft. So no dog days actually happened._

3:39 

Adam:  _No kimono either. I find small blessings._

3:39 

Cecil:  _But…_

*:32

Adam:  _Plug._

3:40

Cecil:  _9__9_

2:24

Adam:  _6__6_

3:40 

Cecil:  _I did get permission to write you a pet Earl._

3:39

Adam:  _Oh?_

3:42

Cecil:  _Check your email._

9:32 

Adam:  _!!!_

3:43

Cecil:  _:)_

*:32

* * *

The pet owner scrapes some cold lasagna, into the dish. Then he waits for his pet to dig in.

And Earl blushes but drops down to his knees, leaning forward on the palms of his hands. He makes a soft noise as he starts to eat, head bowed. He flushes as he makes such noises, knowing Master enjoys this more if he is sloppy. 

And Cecil reaches down, stroking the head fondly as his pet eats. "Such a good boy."

Like an animal would, the bowl is licked clean, chased across the tile as a nose and tongue nudge it onwards. Then, slightly stained lips suck in as the pet nuzzles its Master.

Cecil giggles, using a rag to clean off that mouth and nose. "Perfect mutt..." he murmurs, setting down the water bowl. 

The pet now tries to smuggle in a grin as it shifts away to lap at the water. This is difficult. 

Cecil's hands slide down the pet’s neck, making it shiver. Then its back. They stroke the curve of its tailbone and it wiggles as if wagging. 

"My perfect boy..." Cecil hums. He reaches between those legs, fondling testicles with the palm of his hand. The animal gasps, snorting water up its nose. 

A squeeze warns it to be careful before it is tugged by the collar. "Anyhow, you lovely pet. Time for the kennel. Daddy has a date with your vet and it might last all night. Wouldn't want you making a mess with your dirty cock, hmm? You can't understand any of this, you are just my pretty, dumb pet." 

The beast swallows, feeling a thrill at being locked up but catching the warning. It is to pretend it doesn't know. So pressing lovingly against its Master, it crawls along to the bedroom letting itself believe that there will be play.

Cecil smiles and coos at his pet, chuckling when it gets up onto the bed, sitting up with its legs spread. A half-hard cock is presented to him. "No, down! Not tonight!" he teases, ruffling the animal’s red hair. "But don't worry! That nice dog trainer is going to be keeping an eye on you while I'm gone!" 

He points to the dog cage they have set up.

The creature hesitates, looking at the cage and then the one that bought it. The beast wears its biggest, doting eyes. 

"Are you going to be a bad dog?" Cecil warns. 

It whines, but eventually climbs off of the bed. It nuzzles against Cecil's thigh, whimpering as it noses his crotch, pawing at his leg. 

"In you go," Cecil announces, pulling the animal to the cage as if he hasn't noticed the erection. "Now, no stains on the floor or your trainer will come over and deep clean you."

The canine whimpers but nods, getting into the cage obediently. It bows his head, looking like the proper submissive pet.

"I will see you in the morning!" departs Cecil.

The pet watches him go, biting its lower lip and shifting inside of its cage. It has no idea that the Veterinarian's hormones from the lasagna will kick in soon. The pet will become very needy.

Its bondage gloves scratch at the bars in the lonely room. A camera takes everything in.

Adam waits for Earl to become a bad pet... 

Eventually, the creature is grinding its cock down against the floor of the cage, panting heavily, whining as its member starts to drool.

It huffs into the silence of the space, shamelessly imagining many enticing things. It tries to catch its cum as it spills over, but its paws are not dexterous. The animal drops down, chest quivering as it rests. It figures that it can lick the bars and part of Master’s dresser in a moment. It has all nigh--

A key jangles. The animal freezes as it hears a door slam. 

It looks up when it hears another door open, whimpering as it quickly starts to lap and hide the evidence as best as it can.

"Oh dear...someone has made a mess, haven't they?"

The pet whines, ducking deeper into the cage as the Trainer’s large boots come into sight.

"I am very disappointed, you horny, fuck-hungry brute."

A glove slides down the slick bars, Adam scowling.

If Cecil had left a tail in the dog, it might have been folding it under it. 

Mismatched eyes peer up widely, still tired but meek.

"You know what this means, don't you? You need to get cleaned up...and disciplined for disobeying your orders like this!" the man hisses. 

The pet curls as far back as it can, whimpering.

Adam uses deliberately aggressive movement to unlatch the cage. Then he drops to his knees.

"Colour?"

"All the olives, Sir."

Formalities aside, Adam throws Earl a wink before he kindly asks, "Come..."

The pet presses as far back as it can, silently seeming to copy other plastic bags. 

"Mutt...come..."

It doesn't budge.

"Maybe you already have cummed. Let's try it this way. If you cooperate, everything will be easier for you." 

The creature whines, shifting. Then shakes its head.

Adam grimly glares. Then he shuts the cage door to get his collar pole. 

The other watches nervously, trembling as it listens to the telltale sounds of Adam grabbing the item. It sobs, eyes becoming teary. 

Then it cowers as Adam returns, holding a long stick with a loop on the end. 

The pet is trained to react as if shocked if Adam presses the button on the end. It symbolizes an electric tip as it triggers a sound of static.

The beast is familiar with this, and presses against the back of the cage again, shaking its head, pleading. "Please..."

"Animals don't talk," Adam reminds it.

The purchased pet clamps its teeth down but then growls, deep from the back of its throat.

"Oh...being tough then?"

The pole thrusts in through the bars and as the beast shifts to avoid the loop, it hears the click and then the buzz.

Thanks to the Voice, its shoulder spasms and it yips, shaking with a violent tremor before the noise stops. The poor creature lets itself drop and Adam easily catches its head in the circle and cinches it. 

The pet makes a soft choking sound, gagging as its dragged forward. It rolls its eyes up at Adam, mittens scrabbling on the ground in a useless attempt to gain purchase. 

"You made me do this," Adam reminds it.

A little bit of deft adjustments has the beast outisde the cage. It collapses and Adam lifts at the ginger to press its face against the wood of the dresser. There is cool cum smearing against its cheek.

"Look how you repay your nice Master, hmmm?"

The animal’s nostrils flare before it dares to snap at the wrist holding it.

Adam flicks his hand away, barely avoiding those teeth. "Biting too? We can't have that...what if you bit that kind fool who calls you Pet? We'd have to put you down!"

The canine stares challengingly. It doesn't expect to be slapped across the nose.

"Bad," it is firmly told. "We are definitely giving you a washing and a time out."

The ginger’s eyes water from the blow and it snorts, shaking its head to clear it. He gives Adam a subtle nod before showing its teeth in a snarl. 

The chuckle Adam makes is not one that promises mercy or leniency.

"Dr. Carlos' peppermint enema. He says it makes the bad go away..." 

As if that has decided something for the trainer, he loops the animal again, choking it lightly as he rises and keeps the disobedient pet a safe distance away. 

"Are you going to follow or do I have to drag you?"

A soft snarl replies. The dog braces for a fight.

"Oh but your owner is going to be so disappointed in you..." 

Only now does the creature stop when it hears this. It warbles as it relaxes, bowing its pretty head in submission.

"You want him to stay loving you, right?" 

The other coos, frightened. 

"Then you will understand discipline, or he will realize you are a useless, dirty mutt. Come..."

The beast slowly follows, led out from the room of its beloved Master. It no longer recalls much of its life from before being made into a pet.

They go down the stairs and into the garage attached to the house.

There is a new thing, just recently unloaded from Adam's pickup. 

A modified mating stand.

The creature catches sight of the breeding stand, shuddering as its cock becomes hard. It licks its lips, looking at Adam.

"Climb in willingly or I'll shock you again." 

The animal slinks low, mournfully mewling and scared.

Adam nudges it with his foot. "One... Two..."

Reluctantly, the pet crawls forward, head bowed. It stalls by sniffing it, but even that isn't rewarded. Adam slips open a buckle from the upper platform and then lifts his charge into it with no kindness. Mittens scramble against the floor on the other side and around the pet’s chest, the device is tightened. Leather straps buckled around the creature’s torso, just beneath the arms.

It immediately decides that it doesn't like this and tries to pull free. 

"Easy...you'll get used to it," Adam assures it, testing the give for security, but no damaging pinches. "Now...calm yourself, mutt." 

He taps the beast’s nose. 

"Olive," Earl whispers, voice heavy.

Then, Adam is moving to the rear and bodily hauling the ginger by the hips onto the rear platform. Fingers bite into hips and the pet’s belly drops as it feels its abdomen settle over the stand. Strapped in just as tightly, the animal gasps as Adam suddenly pumps a lever which raises the back platform. The ginger feels its back arc as its ass and legs are lifted.

The pet realizes how exposed it is.

It bites its lower lip, closing its eyes. Its heart is pounding as it tries to brace itself to better squirms. It is impossible to try to be ready for whatever comes next. It whines to save itself from using words meant for people. 

A glove traces an inner, freckled thigh. It inches along the vein of the creature’s cock as it fills out.

Then a cage clatters coldly around the erection. "You learn nothing of self control if you are cumming all the damn time, you little whore."

The pet desperately turns, having no chance to see Adam. Its hips writhe against its trap as gloves stroke up and down a thigh. Unconcerned with the other’s distress, Adam digs deeper into an unseen bag.

The ginger twists in vain, trying to see what the Trainer has planned for it. Its ass sways side to side, perhaps tempting the trainer to do something _else_ for this "lesson".

The loose ankles are then seized and the dog feels them secured to the base of its iron stand. Its knees jostle but it cannot scramble or kick out now.

"Do you recall the peppermint fluid that Dr. Carlos developed just for you?"

The canine squeaks, a pathetic peep that answers enough.

The Voice had made the solution potent. Strong enough to burn hot and cold against skin. It will scour the animal’s insides clean while being harmless in reality. The pet tries to pull its hind legs loose to defend itself as Adam tucks a small, lubricated nozzle to the creature’s ass.

"Dirty mongrels need to be clean," Adam repeats. "Good thing we want the best for your Master. This is something special."

The other sobs as it shakes his head.

Adam chuckles, slapping the side of its ass. "If you want your owner to love you, you need to take this, understand? This is for your own good! It's not your fault really...mongrels are just stupid." 

The solution fills it slowly, its mind grasping the Voice that orders how its body will react -- shocked by the intense peppermint, muscles flexing and spasming, legs rattling as it bucks. It can feel the solution slip out and even the liquid pouring down its thighs stings its skin, leaving it wildly sensitive.

Adam tips the applicator higher, increasing pressure. "If you don't stop thrashing, I will pour this into your filthy cock cage too, you bitch. Imagine how _that_ will fix you."

The beast does imagine this, howling in broken yips as its prostate meets the chemical. 

Adam smiles, watching as its charge reacts. He finally withdraws the applicator, letting the rest slide of the liquid pour over the dirty pet’s quivering body.

"Your vocals really need to be snipped..." 

A plug is produced. Adam lubricates it before sliding it in to hold what hasn't slipped down. 

"Let that sit in there where you can feel it start to scour your filth away..." 

Adam blows against the damp legs to make the other moan.

"Carlos is proposing some plans to your Master right now. We want to have you ship-shape for shows and breeding. This contraption here is for bigger hounds to mount you.

"A few pheromones from Carlos' clinic and there will be breeders from all over wanting to fill your hot ass and mouth with real cock. Not like your leaky, little excuse. More like your Master’s, or mine.

"There is a lot of money involved in having an open bitch. You have most likely spent the last night on your Master's cushions. Carlos hates having you there."

The pet gasps, clenching its teeth as it groans, blushing. In pain. In desperate need to cum again. 

"You'll be making your owner money...so at least you'll make him happy, hm?" Adam teases. "You'll stay here though. Perhaps the cage if you're lucky. You're no longer some pampered mutt. You're a breeding slut now."

"No...please..."

Adam slaps the animal with the collar pole, letting it buzz. The beast cries out as it feels the electricity punish him. A moment later and Adam is jerking the cock cage about, letting it twist against swelling balls. Another bottle of the angry Vet’s solution is produced.

"Do you think you have a choice? You are our pup and you will endure what we give you..."

Mismatched eyes roll back in the pet’s head as its abused cock is saturated with the accursed water. It imagines the solution reaching its slit and burning profusely.

The scream is smothered by a chew toy roughly pressed into a surprised jaw. Little wheezy squeaks muffle the ginger’s wail.

"I will bring a mastiff tonight, and it might help you appreciate your place," Adam growls into the bad pet’s ear.

He smiles, then, letting his lips brush against teary cheeks. "You take what we give you...until we decide you’re not worth anything, anymore. Then you get put down! And if you keep misbehaving it'll happen sooner, rather than later, bitch!"

The canine humps uselessly as the plug gives it no relief and its insides slosh. It gnaws on the plastic toy helplessly trying to speak, but only squeaking instead. Its eyes spill over and soon Adam is standing in front of it, helping himself to his own cock. Pre oozes over the aroused member, and the brunet slides the head against a grimy cheek, rubbing the sticky shaft as he massages it lazily. "I think of what dogs will fuck you. Leave you exhausted and demeaned. You never deserved your personhood, you beast. You can beg for the hormone swill Carlos is selling to your fool Master.

"He will think your endlessly leaking cock makes you valuable. It will encourage the daily fucks. Oh...and when you are useless I will hang you by your collar and let the electric shocker fry your balls. Your body can be stuffed and mounted on my front step, advertising my business. I'll still slide my member against your freckled cheek and cum to your imagined wailing, you slut.

"And your Master will move on and forget you. We will find someone useful to fill that void. Won't be hard..."

The pet weeps.

"You're replaceable, do you understand that? Just a drop in the ocean. Your owner loves you for now but he'll easily forget you and focus on Carlos again!" Adam laughs. "You're so useless... You're lucky I'll even keep your body!"

The pet squeaks as it weeps, trying to turn its face into the cock rubbing against it. It would suck it. Please...

Adam steps back and pumps himself until he covers the animal in his seed. "As if I would let a dirty thing like you pleasure me. Let the solution sit. Then, I'll be back with the hose to give your hot hormones a cold wash. Maybe then you can please your Master with good breeding behaviours..."

The Trainer leaves, knowing that in a few moments that Cecil will slip out to use his Voice.

Earl can believe that time has passed and his suffering will drag on. Adam will have washed him with Cecil being attentive. Then Earl will not see Carlos but he will feel him as a massive hound.

The first of many.

Clean and good.

A perfect pet. 

* * *

Cecil:  _So?_

7:20

Adam:  _...holy shit._

5:13

Cecil:  _Good or bad?_

8:31

Adam:  _That was...very dark at the end. Did Earl read this?_

5:15

Cecil:  _I borrowed pages from his book._

9:32

Cecil:  _He is super embarassed._

9:45

Adam:  _I bet. Tell him its good._

5:17

Cecil:  _He’s very sorry about Friday._

8:30

Adam:  _Tell him he’s good. Not like that. But...well, like that._

5:18

Cecil:  _:) Oh, I’ll tell him._

8:3*

Cecil:  _Cum home too to tell him._

9:79

 


	13. A Trade is Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the right investments, the fun never ends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Implied death mentioned and described here. Please be aware.

Earl sits on the edge of the bed, naked. His mouth is moist from the water consumed. It’s been an hour since dinner. Cecil sits beside him, going over their foundation again.

**“You are Earl Harlan and you will not forget…”**

He is perfectly safe. No matter the scenario described, his body will not suffer injury or death, though his mind may believe it during the session. At all times he will know his safewords and have liberty to speak them. He will not forget this.

“Olive,” Earl speaks, aware of the camera. He shuts his eyes. He becomes someone else.

 

* * *

 

The blow to the head had introduced darkness. As a well-trained Elf, he should have been in control of the ambush. The two monstrous Orcs had been loud and stupid in their destruction of the foliage. He had tracked them from the trees, following their course of ruination easily with his sharp eyes and ears.

How anything had crept up upon him is unthinkable. And he had been rendered to unthinking with no warning.

Now, he is sprawled on the ground. The grass has been trampled away and gravel grinds into his cheek as his vision doubles. Then waters. He tries to move his neck. It stings, but the lack of arms concerns him more. He’s trussed up, his elbows painfully locked and his forearms tightly lashed. He feels tingles in his hands. He tries to pull a leg up and a weight settles upon his ass.

A boot pushes him down.

They don’t speak to him. The Orcs don’t have a language Elves deem worthy to know. The Elf can converse with all manners of creatures, and some humans if they are interesting enough to make the effort. He moans, trying to keep as much to himself. There certainly must be a way out of this.

Something long and flat drops over him. A pole or tall stick. The top bounces off of the Elf’s head and he grunts as it aggravates his softened skull. He can feel it lined up along his spine and pressing into his folded arms. He tries to shift his shoulders but the massive body of one of the Orcs crouches over him. The heavy musk of sweat and filth attacks the Elf’s senses. He flinches, just as a metal bar is shoved onto the ground and pushed against his cheek.

It is flecked with rust and the Elf, suspecting its purpose, tries to close his lips. His head is handled like a ragdoll’s, though. Dirty hands squeeze his cheeks and soon the stained metal is clacking against the Elf’s white teeth. He whines when he shouldn’t. The bit plies further in and settles against the Elf’s molars. Leather from each side of the gag wraps around the Elf’s head, hooking to some kind of attachment in the pole.

The surface of the gag is not smooth. It tastes bitter on the Elf’s tongue. He cannot help but strain against it, his protests muffled. The Orc who has done this snorts before dropping a long, curved blade onto the dirt ground. It takes up most of the Elf’s line of sight.

The drop could not have been clumsiness. Hands delicately retrieve it and the Elf whimpers as his shoulder is pressed into the ground. The blade point drives in. Not deep enough to cut, but it could. The Elf goes still.

Then the skins and textile fabric clothing the Elf is carved away. The weapon never scars the Elf, but red lines blaze where each cut certainly considers his flesh. The Elf bites against the hated metal as he is stripped of all clothing. Large, clammy hands press over the Elf’s lower back or cup at his ass cheek as the work is applied. Nails dig in. The Elf tries not to squirm, afraid of the blade. Afraid of what will follow.

They have not killed him yet. He cannot find this a good thing.

The remains of his clothes are flung aside with no ceremony. The Elf’s legs drift together to preserve some of his modesty. His ass is slapped and then, too much weight is brought down over his thighs.

Someone is kneeling on him. He produces a muffled wail as the nerves in his legs explode. This does not change the pressure. Whoever sits upon him leans closer to the Elf and then parts his ass. A finger pushes in.

The Elf’s muscles spasm at the intrusion. He gains nothing from that but a low, awful chuckle. The digit worms in, twitching against the flexing, intimate space. This lasts too long and the Elf grows tired of fighting. His legs are numb and his ass is never going to grow used to the presence of something else.

At some point, a heavy, cold thing is dropped across the Elf’s lower back. He notices it only when the finger is removed and the metal thing is retrieved. His relief at the change is short-lived. A metal hook drives in to replace the Orc’s finger. It has a ball on its end that fights its way in.

The Elf yelps high in his throat, feeling the hook push deeper into his barely prepared ass.

The Orc rises from his captive’s legs. The Elf mewls, afraid to move. Feeling returns in needle hot slowness to his thighs.

Then, the Orc says something to the other and they stand up. The pole and the Elf are unceremoniously lifted. The Elf struggles on useless legs to keep up, as his head is strapped to the post. It turns out the hook is, as well. There is enough give that nothing pulls and the Elf’s legs wobble as the post is inserted into a quickly crafted hole in the ground.

The Orcs cock their heads, looking at the exposed front of the Elf. The Elf knows he is flushing at his nakedness. At how helpless he is under their uncaring glances. The Orcs tower over the Elf, bulkier and taller. Their large girths press against soiled loincloths. Only one is a little hard. This is business for them.

The Elf shifts from one foot to the other, scared of dropping his weight. The bit gag hurts and risks damaging his teeth and lips further. The hook in his ass might tear. The beast that is slightly aroused mutters something before stepping forward. His large hand envelopes the Elf’s member, squeezing cock and balls together in one palm. The Elf’s eyes widen against the touch.

The possessive grab causes the Elf to draw back. This in turn causes the hook to readjust. The first train of drool seeps down from the Elf’s lips as he unwillingly pushes against the grip. This is rewarded by a slow fondling by calloused fingers. A calculated rubbing. Soon, the bucking becomes steady.

The Elf focuses not on the attentive stare of his handler. His chest tickles from saliva oozing down. His face burns as much as his ass.

Then, abruptly, the Orc stops.

The Elf hates himself for whining.

Crooked, ugly teeth flash at the Elf. Then the Orc steps back to admire his handiwork. The Elf is hard. The top of his cock looks as ready to leak as the corners of his lips.

Another Orc, one he had not counted, approaches and the Elf cannot look down to see what is held. He feels it, though. A heavy weight pushes into his slit and he screams, trying to squirm away. The struggle does not slow the attack, but makes it hurt more. The Elf knows he should be still but he cannot help it. He jerks his head against his gag and feels the hook jostle with each of his twitches. The jostling creates spikes of pleasure. Where the pleasure should spill out, the metal sounding rod drives it back in. A growing ache takes over. Then, jagged metal encloses the Elf’s cock and balls. A snap is heard. The Elf keens loudly as the awful device is further tightened.

He shivers, overstimulated. The Orc that has done this to him takes a cracked nail and lightly traces it down the Elf’s belly, sternum to pelvic hair. The skin quivers against the almost gentle touch. Then, that same hand reaches to produce a dirtied rag. It drapes over the Elf’s eyes, leaving him blind and aware of the sweat-stained reek of it.

A command is given, drowning out the Elf’s protest.

Two of the Orcs pick up the post and suddenly the Elf’s legs are off the ground. He feels the full weight of the hook suddenly and squeals. The Orc that is free grabs both of his thighs. The Elf’s legs are then buckled to a belt the Orc wears. One ankle for each side. The post slings over one shoulder.

Gravity pulls at the Elf, made to dangle by the anal hook and his bit gag. The post is held by two of the Orcs, the one in the back with easy access to the Elf’s thighs. They pause, letting the Elf grow familiar to his place. As soon as his sobs still, the pair bounce the post, triggering new wails.

Satisfied, the final Orc attaches a pair of spiked bells to the Elf’s nipples, using a needle to thread the ornaments through the pink skin. The outcry is no louder than any of the other abuses.

The Orcs begin to march with their catch.

\--

When the Orcs camp, they leave the post draped across two platforms, the Elf’s legs lashed to the post temporarily. Adjustments are made for the hook and the gag. The Orcs chuckle and tease him before they ignore him. The Elf is hungry and worn, and still so hard it becomes an endless pain.

They travel for four days like this. Halfway through, the Orcs pull a bottle of something out and replace the hook with the nozzle. The Elf’s ass is invaded by some kind of substance before the hook is returned.

By the end of the day, his dizziness fades. His pain remains, but he no longer thinks he will die. The thought is no comfort.

Finally, they break from the road the Elf knows no sane creature travels. He has long given up on a rescue. A small encampment exists around a corner. A human waits. His ears pick this up. His experience translates the sounds for him.

“Took you long enough,” the man snaps, busy at his work. The Elf picks up the Common tongue and starts to worry and hope in equal measure.

The Orcs grunt, setting the pole down on mounted sticks that seem to have been left for that very purpose.

“Oh, very nice. I’ll forgive the delay because you found such a lovely specimen.”

The Elf whimpers tiredly as the human stops what he is doing to come inspect the Orc’s prize.

“Did you apply the potion?”

The Orcs nod.

“And you had no trouble subduing him with my spell?”

Lips quirk.

“Very good. Your payment is doubled, then. Hello, Elf. Red hair, not very common for your kind, is it?”

The Elf tries to speak, a fresh deluge of drool spilling from his gagged mouth, shaming him into silence.

“Ah, lovely. You still don’t like this happening.” Hands flutter over the Elf, prodding and prying. The Elf feels his hips squeezed. His belly is dug into and he tenses. As always, this aggravates the hook still in him. The needles in his nipples are withdrawn. “Ugh, I told them to mark you minimally. Well, no matter.”

Unexpectedly, the cock cage is removed.

The Elf gasps, feeling his swollen member exposed for the first time in days. The human takes a cup and with a deft withdrawal of the rod plugging the slit, the Elf cums helplessly. Violently. He burns his throat with the yell.

Then, the human pulls tightly at his cock, producing one orgasm more with little effort. The Elf shudders before he mewls pathetically.

“Good good. Let’s see if this spell is going to work for me. If so, I know you warriors have shown restraint…”

The Orcs snort.

“This experiment will only take an hour.”

\--

The Orcs linger, setting up their own camp across the clearing from the human. A wizard, the Elf guesses. It is the only thought he has as he hangs from his perch. He is exhausted.

Finally, as the sun is starting to craft long shadows, the human returns. “Everything works as the books says it should. So...who wants to see some magic?”

The Orcs lumber over, curious. Interested in rewards.

The Elf cannot watch as he still blinded by the rag. Something metal is unsheathed, though.

“Would you like to do the honours?”

A piece of cold metal touches against the Elf’s belly. He cannot believe that they would kill him now. Perhaps as a sacrifice or a component. He expects this will soon be over and relaxes.

“If this works, you can play with him. The dragons I hope to trade him to will no doubt push him to extremes. This will help him become used to such things.”

The Elf hums, begging for context. For sense.

He feels the knife cut in, hot and cold.

“Ah, he’s hard again. I like your choice, my friends.”

The Elf wails as he is split open. As a large hand pushes into his warm torso and as a bloody hand grips his cock and squeezes it violently. A nail scratches his slit and the climax burns. His body spasms. He tastes blood along with the iron of the bit gag. He hears laughter as someone strokes his hair.

His eyes roll back.

Then, he shudders.

He coughs. It is impossible to clear his airway, though. His jaw is jammed open and he is hanging. Once more, he is hanging.

“Hmmm, eight hours. I’ll have to work on that,” says a voice. Familiar. Terrible. “But success is success. You’re alive again. But dragons are impatient, so we’ll have to continue the experiment until I can have you back in playful shape in less time...perhaps even down to three or two hours.”

A hand lovingly pats at the confused Elf. He is still mounted by a hook. His belly is...intact? His nipples no longer hurt. He remembers them being pierced. He remembers being killed.

“When your friends return from hunting,” says the wizard, no doubt to one of the Orcs. “You three can have your fun with him. Within the parameters, I’ve set, of course. Oh, or you could just go and they can wait too.”

An Orc laughs, willing to share humour with a human. In the dark of the night, the Elf feels them approach and cries.

 

* * *

 

“Colour?”

“O...olive,” Earl gasps, curled in on himself. His eyes are glazed and his lips shine with spit. He’s cum a third time but his cock is still sensitive.

“We should have you take a break,” offers Cecil. “It’s been two hours.”

Earl groans, not arguing or agreeing. For him, it has been days. He wants to escape and he wants to stay.

**“You are Earl Harlan.”**

Earl nods. “I’m...I’m Earl.”

“And?”

“And I’m hungry.”

“Carlos texted not long ago. He’s bringing Rico’s. Should be home any minute now.”

“And then we send the video to Adam?”

“You’ll probably be sleeping,” teases the Voice. “But Carlos knows how to do it. We can share the bed as he does this.”

“I’d like that.”

Cecil kisses Earl’s fevered brow. “I know, Elf. I know.”

 

 


	14. There Are No Strings on Earl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have a new toy.
> 
> “We are going to do three scenes in this session,” murmurs the radio host.

Earl draws a knee up. Naked on the bed, he holds still as Cecil leans in to apply the damp nub of the marker to freckled skin. The cool tip of the item carefully circles the contours of Earl’s joint. The ginger watches the intensity of Cecil’s focus while goose bumps climb up and down his body.

“We are going to do three scenes in this session,” murmurs the radio host. “But if it gets too much for you…”

“I’m excited for olive them,” Earl whispers back.

A pair of eyes peer up, mischevious. “ **Your knee is now enchanted** ,” purrs the Voice. “ **It will move only as the Puppet Master commands.** ”

Earl shivers, but watches intently as the fingers encircling his calf trace gentle touches against his skin. Those digits tease his hair and count his freckles as the limb is lifted. Fingers slide to an ankle to repeat the marking of joints. “ **Your ankle is also enchanted…”**

As is Earl’s other leg. His wrists, elbows, and shoulders. His fingers. His hips and his neck.

Always, his safewords are reinforced. The radio host sets Earl up in a seated position, straddling him. He leans in and draws the jaw in. The marker’s sharp smell lingers as strongly as the Commands. **“You are Earl Harlan, and you are safe. You will recall and have access to speaking your safewords at all times. The moment you speak them, the enchantments over your body will cease. Until that point, you will have no control to your joints. You will feel your skin and your nerves, but you will be, for all purposes, a doll. A puppet to your masters.”**

Earl’s eyes glint as he recalls the story they have invented. Of him being a visiting fighter, challenging the kingdom’s top fighter. He has bested the other, creating a rival. He has reinforced his distant kingdom as worthy of note. Unwittingly, he has attracted the eye of the mad king who rules this realm, and more so, his magician.

“Close your eyes,” Cecil teases.

Earl is half aroused, but he is losing control of his body. His hips remain motionless when he tries to twitch and thrust into Cecil. He meets the other’s stare before winking.

His second eyelid joins the first. In darkness, he grows used to the sensation. He can still feel where the marker had circled his skin. How the borders of his body are dividing him into segments. He feels where his imaginary armour is absent. He pretends he sleeps, rendered unconscious by a spell.

He _is_ a worthy fighter, but magic is rarely used in his realm. He travels to improve his skill against strangers, and that has never ended with anything more than new challenges. More jousts and journeys. He ignores hearing the door to the bedroom, until Carlos says, “we’re ready.”

“Earl?” prompts the Voice.

“Olive,” agrees the man on the bed.

\--

Session One

He opens his eyes and finds himself slumped against the wall. His posture is poor. His neck droops at an angle. He has lost his clothing and he does not understand what is happening. He can stare down at his exposed form, strange sigils carved into his flesh where his knees and ankles are. From his jutting hip bones to the inside of each thigh. He also catches the spells on his wrists.

“Finally,” growls a voice, and Earl cannot lift his head to see who stands over him. The sound is familiar enough, though. He had defeated the speaker with ease in the town square.

He tries to make demands but finds his mouth fails to move for him. He swallows. That is allowed. His jaw does nothing more, though.

“It takes a little work,” says an unfamiliar figure. “But I assure you, your patience will be worth it.”

“Show us?” prompts another. 

“Soldier,” starts the one who crouches down. “Lift your left arm onto your belly.” 

Earl finds that arm rises from its resting point. He splays it on his stomach, the warm flesh of his hand connecting to the cool skin of his exposed torso. His brows narrow at the alien sensation.

“Spread those fingers.”

He does.

“Circle your thumb over those fine hairs.” 

He does this too.

A pair of hands clap softly. “I’m impressed. Can you tell him to open his legs?”

“Soldier, part those ankles and give us a view.” 

Earl _refuses_ to do this, but he cannot stop his heels from sliding along the floor. He inhales sharply, his stomach flattening under his hand.

“This suits him,” chuckles his rival. “He’s aware of this?”

“Oh, he is _very_ aware,” says the one issuing the directives. “Roll those knees open, Soldier.”

The outside edge of Earl’s knees brush against the floor, further revealing him. The inside of his thighs strain to shut away his vulnerable member. He is growing harder under their scrutiny.

“Are you making his cock fill out?” asks Cecil.

“He’s doing that himself,” the magician says knowingly.

“I knew you were a slut,” the rival fighter gloats. “Make him touch himself.” 

“With pleasure. Soldier, drape your wrists over your hips and let those fingers clutch at your thighs. Good. Now make your fingers frame your cock for us.” 

Cheeks flushing, Earl does so. His thumbs graze against his pubic hair. His fingers touch just under his testicles. He catches his breath, aware of their staring. 

“Close in your hands and lift those hips a few times…”

Earl arcs his spine as his grip tightens around his cock. It stiffens, filling out and ready to bob against his torso without help.

Gods, that touch is _good_. He lets his eyes flutter shut, amazed at how foreign the touches are. He feels his cock connected to his hand, and yet, it is not his own mind that commands him. He doesn’t know what his arms will do next.

“Your right hand strokes your length, but gently. Ghost touches.”

His fingers do this, teasing the skin. He feels the vein underneath his member caressed far softer than he would ever fondle himself.

“Make his left hand finger himself.”

“First, Soldier...bend your knees. Bring them up and show us your ass.”

“Those abs are lovely,” Cecil praises. The muscles contort as Earl’s legs draw up. His right palm continues to slide along his cock and his hips tilt to reveal his hole. 

His audience draws closer. In his peripherals, he catches shameless grins. Cruel faces delighting in wonder. 

“He’s from far off,” explains one. “No one will come looking for him. Everyone will assume he moved on. Very kind of our distant neighbours to give us such a pretty plaything.”

Earl feels blood pooling in his core at the hopelessness of the situation.

The darkest of his assailants flashes a perfect row of teeth. “Your right hand releases your cock and moves to roll your right nipple between your fingers. Your left index finger pushes into your ass from over your thighs. You lift your hips in case you can help your wrist rub your penis.”

Under those directions, Earl’s fingers depart from his needy length. He feels his back slipping along the wall as his thrusts offset him. He imagines his rag-doll form as if it were attached at the joints by thread. The thought leaves his motions mechanical. Unnatural. He pants as he penetrates himself, hoping gravity allows his wrist to connect to his sensitive cock in a meaningful way.

“You really should not have messed with us,” challenges the fighter, hungrily leering. “Your body is _our_ body now.” 

“Press your nipple in as you add your middle finger.” 

“And open that mouth like you would allow us to fuck it,” adds Cecil.

Earl complies, his head lolling as he longs to squeeze his balls and milk himself of an approaching orgasm. He would love to, but his arms are no longer his. He lets the pretend confusion and frustration fuel his fantasy. He is their marionette, debasing himself.

“I made a box for the occasion,” Adam states to his mad, grinning king. “When I heard your magician was working on this, I crafted a box for your new toy.”

“I have such lovely subjects,” Cecil admires. “Though if you have done so to gain access to my things…”

“Possibly,” admits the fighter. “Though only to see this one pay for mocking your army.”

The king sighs. “He _did_ do that. But if you wish to redeem yourself, perhaps a demonstration…my beautiful and clever wizard, can you have our puppet present himself, say...his wrists pulling back his ankles and his cock a neat standing target?”

“It will be a perfect opportunity to show you how my manipulation defeats his natural urge to avoid harm,” Carlos claims. “Soldier, take your fingers out of your ass and bring both of your arms under your thighs. Nicely done. Now pull your heels under you and cross your ankles, seizing them with your fingers.” 

Earl adjusts, his legs straining as they pull against the pose. His mouth is still agape. He feels the saliva pooling and threatening to slip out the side of his lips. His cock stands out like a centerpiece.

The jealous fighter moves to fetch his whip. Carlos leans down, dangerously close to the prisoner in any _other_ circumstance. He presents a cockring attached to a leather strap, sliding the inflexible metal over the tip of Earl’s cock before pulling the cord it is attached to. The leather thread could be several feet, wound around a stick the magician handles.

Earl’s muscles tense as he tries to fight the commands to stay still. He could kill this man with his bare hands but the magic is too strong. His cock stands taller as it is pulled by the cord. Pre shines at the slit.

“Your neck cranes down to observe your punishment,” Carlos orders.

Earl watches Adam approach. He winks when the fighter locks eyes with him. The whip is not thick and they’ve tested it before. Its thin tips will flick out and sting Earl’s sensitive organ. He has no way to protect himself from the abuse, save for letting go of his pose and easily defending himself.

As if he were tied up, he _can’t!_

“Show us that skill of yours,” Cecil presses. “If you do well, I’ll let you have access to our puppet whenever you like.”

“I’ll accept those terms,” Adam smugly responds. His wrist snaps and his aim is precise. Earl cannot look away as his testicles are slapped raw.

By the third strike he cums all over himself.

\--

Session Two

Earl lies limp on the ground. He is left on a soft carpet, arms and legs splayed and twisted in odd angles. His eyes can only stare at the corner of the ceiling and he occasionally catches glimpses of the Faceless Old Woman crawling by, shaking her head.

Time is strange here, of course. He is **Told** that weeks would pass as he waits. In this new state, the soldier is not hungry or thirsty. He grows bored and desperate. No amount of discipline to his thoughts allow for him to regain command of his body. When he dares to attempt it, the helplessness leaves his cock twitching. His lips drooling. He knows deep down that he is Earl Harlan. That this is fifteen minutes, as agreed upon before the session.

But really, he is just another thing that has been abandoned after a single day of play. It leaves him sad and objectified and ready for stimulation. 

Finally, the arrival of the mad king changes everything for him. The royal smiles as he picks Earl up, cradling him in his arms as he carries him to the bed. He unceremoniously drops him, humming as he begins to position Earl on a pile of pillows.

"Such a lovely puppet..." Cecil praises, running the back of his hand along Earl's cheek. "Let's see if we can't find you some nice clothes to wear, hm? I'm sure you'd like that!"

Earl can only lie silently as the insane monarch runs a soft brush through his red hair. Cecil coos words of comfort into his ear as he does so, complimenting his skill and body. "You are the most beautiful toy in my collection," he whispers. “You can reenact anything for me. The battle that won me over. The way you touched yourself in demonstration. But first, let’s improve you a little…”

The king finds clothes to dress Earl in next. A long green and yellow sundress slips over Earl's limp body. The other gives thoughtless orders of “lift your arm through this,” or “wriggle until it fits.”

The dress fits perfectly, though, clinging and loose in all the right places.

"I had it created for you. Now, look down at yourself," Cecil commands.

Earl allows his eyes to roam, cheeks turning a soft pink in a blush at his ridiculous form. He is a warrior, not a doll. But the king believes him beautiful in the sundress...

He is glad to be incapable of speech. He would admit that the colour suits him, at least. 

"Head up," Cecil chirps and Earl obeys, lips parting slightly as Cecil happily pushes himself up onto his knees, opening a cosmetic bag. "Now let's get you really made up, yes?"

Light green blush with sparkles is brushed over his cheeks first. Eyeliner is carefully drawn on, his eyes rolling back like a doll’s from the sensation. The last is lipstick painted on his lips. A rich dark green.

The king leans close, as intimate as Cecil had been during the start of this evening. It could have been a month ago, according to the puppet. The contact and attention is nice. The king turns Earl’s head this way and that, lightly touching and prodding.

"My perfect toy!" Cecil proclaims, clapping his hands together against Earl’s cheeks. "Oh you simply must look at yourself! Here!"

The king grabs his camera and starts taking pictures. Despite the technology being unexplained, the radio host poses Earl in various ways. Some are cute and seductive. Others are more humiliating, showing off the toy’s bulge and helplessness.

"You'll love these pictures when they develop," he giggles. 

Without warning, Cecil picks Earl up, carrying him over to special box Adam had built for the session. Smooth polished wood with a metal padlock. Designs depicting certain redheads in perilous situations decorate the lid. The inside of the box is lined with soft velvet, offering the smallest amount of comfort.

Earl is dumped without ceremony into the box. He is left hunched over the side, his head and torso inside, his legs draping outside. He is effectively folded in half, the sundress riding up to cover the tops of his thighs. His cock pressing against the side of the box.

"No moving until I come back!" Cecil commands.

Earl is left in darkness once again.

\-- 

Session Three

More time passes in the dim of the open box. Once again the puppet starts to fear that he has been forgotten, face painted and body clothed in a brand new sundress, (which he thinks he will keep when the game is over).

His concerns are wiped away a quarter hour later (or days and days and days) when he hears Adam slamming the door open. The rival warrior stomps towards him. The sundress is hiked up roughly and his ass is sharply slapped before slick fingers push into him, preparing him with a few deep thrusts before pulling out, replaced by a cock.

"Filthy toy!" Adam growls down at him, holding onto his hips in a cruel grip. "All he ever does is brag about you. Won't let anyone fuck you because he thinks it'll ruin your value!"

Earl's hair is grabbed and his head yanked back as Adam falls silent, focusing fully on fucking Earl as hard as possible. When he cums he makes sure to do it deep inside, hissing in the other's ear. 

The redhead falls back into the box when he's released, semen dripping down the inside of his thighs. His legs are grabbed and he's tipped fully into the toybox. Adam stops to adjust the other into a fetal position. His head is made to look up at the angry soldier.

"I should lock this and hide the key!" Adam snaps before slamming the lid shut.

Earl is left in total darkness.

His breath echoes in his wooden prison. His ass aches and his cock remains hard. He cannot touch it, even with his fingers so close. He is not allowed to thrust or grind into the soft walls. He imagines the threat of time passing. Perhaps he truly has become immortal, made to suffer in darkness forever.

The idea makes him harder. To be used and thrown away like a mindless object...

It’s messed up, but it’s also doing it for him.

He will wait several more minutes before he safewords, breaking the spell. He can escape the box easily to savour this sensation. Rejoin the others. Thank them properly.

It is then that he hears someone approaching. He perks up, wondering if Carlos is going to play out a fourth scene where the magician perhaps steals the toy and...

"Oh there you are! I've been looking everywhere for you! Now why would Cecil put you in here? That's not very productive if you ask me!"

Earl's eyes widen in horror as he stares up into an eyeless face. A sharp smile. He would move to lash out. To destroy this creature. To escape.

He cannot move his limbs though. He cannot move at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies on the delay. We try to get these up for Sundays, but for one of us: new puppy demands. And for the other: our place of employment just experienced the busiest sale day in 21 years. Then immediately after that: family road trip.
> 
> Delays shouldn't happen so often. That would be...unproductive of us.
> 
> And we don't want to be unproductive. That's dangerous.


	15. An Offering of Plot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone is coming.

_He’s never used his safewords with Kevin. He knows better. To do so would be one more way to admit defeat. To show desperation. He has not spent days in the desert, or bargained with this devil so that he has to beg._

_Still, he’s terrified._

_He cannot move as Kevin collects him._

 --  

When Adam steps out from the washroom, he has cleaned up from his use of their “puppet”. He has also drawn a bath so the three can take care of their ginger sub. He clears his throat when his partners in crime -- those fellow “countrymen” -- continue to press themselves against the wall and one another.

“If you want, I can bring Earl down. Water’s almost the temperature he likes.”

Carlos draws his head away from Cecil, though the radio host insists on keeping the scientist’s lower lip between his teeth.

“No,” attempts the darker man. His cheeks warm under the scrutiny of their observer. Having another in their sex games is still strange. Not bad, but certainly different. “I’m the Puppet Master so it makes sense for me to wash him.”

Cecil relinquishes Carlos’ skin. “I could interrupt the washing and lament about how you’ve ruined his pretty face.”

“If he’s up to it,” Carlos grins.

None of the three doubt that Earl won’t be up to it.

\--

_He is capable of fending off bears. He wrestles pigs at work and dares to shop on Valentine’s Day for gifts, despite the horrors. Earl Harlan is up for a lot of things._

_He cannot overcome Kevin._

_He’s paralysed. Even if he were free to move, he knows that he could not overcome this man. He’s cradled. He’s confused. The soulless sockets stare into him as his heart hammers against his chest._

_He should fight back. He should try. Why is he allowing this? Even a token resistance…_

_Oh darling, you brought me here because you love the attention. This is who you are and what you seek. We understand you!”_

\--

The scientist enters the bedroom where the box awaits. They’ve agreed on quarter hour intervals. The Voice keeps Earl’s mind for that long before his natural resistance kicks in. He’ll believe that time is passing. He’ll also know it won’t be real. Carlos has run tests to confirm this during their Voice-scenarios.

The dark room smells of musky sex and powder from Cecil’s make-up. The pretend Puppet Master stops at the box, admiring it for a moment as he considers Earl and his fetishes. How could he ever explain these games to anyone outside of their group? What they do is weird, but he reminds himself that it is _consensual_. That Earl is here _by choice_. That Carlos is also here _by choice._

That by continuing after ~~Master~~ Kevin, they are brave. They are careful. They are adults with the ability to communicate and express themselves in the bedroom and playrooms, while still being “respectable” in all other aspects of their lives.

\--

" _You’re a slut,” Kevin fondly identifies. Lovingly, even. “You know where your destiny lies.”_

_He is cradled even more possessively tighter. His handler cups his ass. He curves his hand around Earl’s arm, fingers long enough to extend to one nipple. Teases his balls with feather fingers. There should not be so many hands, but there’s more. His thigh is entwined by the touch. His hair is carded through. The base of his skull fondled. The outline of his lips traced._

_Each connection thrills him and he fears that Kevin is right._

\--

Carlos picks up the lock with deliberate clumsiness. It is not sealed, being more for show. That had been at Carlos’ insistence, despite Adam and Earl claiming that a simple padlock would not be able to trap the Scoutmaster for long.

They respect Carlos’ need for contingencies, though. He rattles the bulky thing so Earl knows it will open.

He is readying a phrase about needing to upkeep the “toy”. He plans to confirm safewords before lifting Earl from the crate. He opens the lid, expecting darkness.

\--

_The anticipation will not kill him, which is a tragedy. He is confined to a motionless form, ashamed of his arousal and managed as if he weighed nothing. They are nowhere at all, an unsettling Void of non-colour. Certainly he is far from home. He is alone._

_There are mountains. He doesn’t see them, but they are felt._

_There is a purpose to this._

_He is the purpose. A finger dabs at his nose, Kevin cooing, “You used to be so brave. Listen to those little huffs you make. I know the excitement is affecting me, too. It’s been how long? We can still make it right. If you can’t, I’m afraid there’s no way we should have to keep my other pets.”_

_And then Kevin stops at a circle. Earl’s seen one like it before. He is lowered as his captor kneels. Held closer as hands, very much like Cecil’s, directs Earl’s head to gaze across an expanse of time and space. Jagged peaks and sourceless white._

_A ritual ring that is different from any kind found in Night Vale._

_A warm mouth brushes against his ear. Fingers support his neck. Those same fingers close over his airway._

\--

He sees light, instead.

Two points of yellow shine. They stare. Earl’s eyes are brilliantly bright. They are blown wide as their owner shudders, limbs trembling in the velvet nest of the box interior.

Carlos forgets what to say. He blinks, in shock. Some part of his brain -- the oldest and most trusted part -- tells him that this is not usual. Nor average. It might be worth investigating.

The Scoutmaster’s body is spasming and his sundress is stained and smelling of cum and urine. The other makes no sound beyond the shuffling velvet around him. Carlos tries to assess these facts with his usual practicalness, but a louder part of his head announces that Earl’s eyes are very pretty. Almost…

_Perfect._

\--

" _Imagine it, Dear,” Kevin whispers, his lips grazing against Earl’s jaw as his hand cuts off all access to Earl’s air. “We’d keep you until you were ripe. The ugly scientist will be tolerated because he’s so willing to please us. And the other Voice will be here to silently witness it all.”_

_Kevin’s other hand/s slide down Earl’s body. The Offering is trying not to be hard. He doesn’t want to be. If his body could react, he knows he’d be writhing. Thrusting. He helplessly waits for what will happen next._

_He needs another option. A different Voice._

~~_He is Earl Harlan, and he is safe? He will recall and have access to speaking his safewords at all times. The moment he speaks them, the enchantments over his body will cease._ ~~

~~~~

_Safewords._

_He’s never used his safewords with Kevin. He knows better._

_Cecil had spoken, though. Promised that this was safe. He’s…_

_...unable to breathe. Kevin’s teeth carve smiles into Earl’s skin just over the crushing might of his hands._

\--

“CLOVER!”

The scientist doesn’t know where his voice comes from. He knows Earl’s safeword is the right thing to say, though. He propels himself into the box as his head demands he move away. He wishes he could run. He doesn’t know where he would run to, but he should _move_. Escape. Leave.

This is fear, he realizes. It’s terror.

His body bends. He plunges into the container and finds warm skin. Earl doesn’t change. He doesn’t wake, continuing to shake, his mouth open and his muscles spasming under Carlos’ large hands.

“Clover! Cecil! Ada--”

\--

" _Clover,” Earl gasps. He shouldn’t be able to speak, but he does._

_The victory gives him control over his joints. He feels his muscles tense and his toes curl. He rocks his pelvis into the hand teasing him, even as he starts to bring his arms up defensively. If he can find a target…_

_But no longer paralyzed, he is still sprawled under Kevin. The other seems unperturbed by Earl’s sudden movement. He pins the Scoutmaster with ease._

_It shouldn’t be possible._

_The circle. An Offering never wins…_

\--

Wood slams against the wall. A door is knocked open and Carlos gratefully accepts that he is not alone with this.

Cecil stumbles forward, his Voice already claiming the air waves around them. He has no context, but he prepares the usual. “ **You are safe. You are Carlos and you are...you are safe. Earl, you are safe. You are Earl Harlan and you remember that.** ”

While the tension bleeds from Carlos’ frame at the Assurance, he notes that Earl remains unfazed. His eyes fixate beyond them. They leak light, which Carlos is tempted to cover with a hand. Blind it. Shield himself.

It feels warm.

So warm...

\--

_“What makes this work is how you will never willingly submit.” Kevin straddles him. “But you get off on the conflict as much as I do. It’s what makes you valuable.”_

_The ground vibrates under them. Pressed against hot sand, Earl feels the tremors as if coming from a massive, chugging...thing._

_“You know it’s coming. For you, it’s creeping forward. When it arrives, you will fit perfectly inside it. And it will fit perfectly in you.”_

\--

“It’s not working,” Carlos observes. He turns to Cecil and matches that stricken face. “Scientifically speaking, it _should_ work.”

Adam crowds Carlos’ other side. “He can’t hear the Voice. This is the Smiling God, right?”

“Oh Masters,” Cecil wilts. “He shouldn’t have been alone...”

“His vitals are  _not_ getting worse,” Adam notes. “It could be that, or it could be a breach of some kind. A portal or some change with Desert Bluffs. Carlos, how are you doing?”

“I’m…” Carlos clings to Earl’s warmth. He still contemplates running. It is the sane part of him. “I don’t know.”

“ **Carlos, you’re good. You’re safe. We love you** ,” Cecil says.

The edge of his panic slips off of him. The scientist breathes deeply. The overpowering scent of sweat from Earl, the cum and caking cosmetics. They build up an excuse for his anxieties, but the Voice is enough to make him settle. Cecil will not reach Earl, though. Carlos grows concerned as he focuses. More scientist than frightened former hostage.

This is okay, Carlos thinks. He can use this. They all can use this. Earl needs him thinking.

Carlos gathers more of the ginger up. The Scoutmaster doesn’t help, slumping like an actual doll. Vibrating like he hides a motor under his skin. Saliva glistens on his chin. If this is a seizure, they shouldn’t move him. The box is as safe a place as any, and if they can keep him from choking…

“ **Earl, your ears hear me and you are safe. You will come back to your mind…** ”

\--

_Kevin says something but the words are lost. Parts of him are lost. Earl tries to disrupt the other’s balance in this unexpected change, but he only sinks into the sand. He imagines the hungry ground. If it swallows him, he will be content with that._

_Despite what Kevin says, Earl would choose death before submission._

_Proportions are distorted. Earl’s hands flail against his attacker and he finds that they are not long enough to do anything. Kevin continues to grind down on Earl’s windpipe. His knee slips against the ginger’s freckled cock. It is as sweet feeling as it is sickening._

_He knows what the thrumming wants of him._

\--

The room grows silent for several heart beats, Carlos counts the thrumming in his head. They watch and observe, Earl continuing to jerk and curl in on himself. He is too hot. The brightness from his eyes does not dim. Foam spittle is starting to decorate the corners of his mouth.

He deserves more dignity than this. Carlos is grateful again for the Voice settling him. He usually relies upon Earl to be the strong one.

“You’ve got no power here, Cecil” Adam explains softly. “There might have been a trigger. The bloodstone circles might be sabotaged. An anniversary from that Ceremony. The damned Old Woman should have been watching the house.”

“The ‘damned Old Woman’ is _always_ watching this house,” comes a reply from under the bed.

Adam stiffens.

Cecil whirls, dropping to his hands and knees in a fluid motion. “What’s happening?”

“I don’t know,” responds the Faceless Old Woman. “But I do not like that light from his eyes. You will see me in that light.”

“Forget about hiding,” Adam snaps. “How do we fix this?”

“In exchange for that sundress, I will tell you,” murmurs the Woman.

“We don’t have time for bargains!”

“I disagree. You have all the time in the world. It is Earl that does not have time,” she counters.

\--

_Cum._

_Kevin’s smile splits his face. His hands melt against Earl as sand starts to trickle over them. The circle is losing its properties. Earl is losing his faculties. He feels the command, even as Kevin moves his mouth and yet makes no sounds._

_Kevin still controls Earl’s tender arousal. The Scout can read the message spilling out from his Mas...Kevin’s lips. He is a resource. And this desperately close climax can be limitless…_

_CUM._

\--

Carlos ignores the others as they continue to loudly barter. He feels Earl’s shaking intensify and remembers that it is not good to pin those experiencing seizures. He guides the Scoutmaster onto his side, keeping his hand on Earl’s shoulder in case support is required. “Earl...come back,” he whispers.

Earl does not react, staring straight ahead as his eyes continue to shine. He is physically here, but not _with_ them. Carlos thinks he knows what could be happening in that head. Who he is with. The light might show him, if he leans in.

He doesn’t want to.

~~“You belong to me!”~~

He does.

~~“You can not run from the Light forever.”~~

Carlos does not know if he stares into the shine so Earl doesn’t have to face this alone.

~~“My sacrifice…”~~

Or if he really does want to do good by his Master --

~~“...and my good pet.”~~

“Carlos!”

\--

_There is more than Kevin pinning him. New hands. Familiar hands. Tools, like rope and machinery. Sand._

_And now he feels his cock squeezed by metal. The sharp pain of something penetrating into his urethra. The bite of clamps and the press of rubber against his ass._

_He cannot see anymore, but Kevin is not alone._

\--

Carlos hears his name. His head hurts. A migraine. He feels the lights flare behind his eyes. He cannot turn from watching over the sacrifice’s safety to acknowledge...whoever speaks. But the speaker grasps Carlos’ arm and pulls.

“It’s spreading…” says a Woman.

Something sharp jabs into Carlos’ hand and he gasps, flinching. He has done nothing wrong so he should not be punished --

\--

_“Are you betraying me again, Pet?”_

_Carlos bleeds._

_So much blood…_

\--

The scientist fights his way back to the box in the same instant that Earl lets out a choked sob. The light vanishes. In the ensuing spots flashing in Carlos’ eyes, he withdraws his hand and finds it wet. Numb.

Cecil clamors over the edge of the box. “ **Earl, say something. Carlos tell me you’re alright.** ”

“Some...something?” Earl stammers, awkwardly bent and looking visibly confused.

“I’m alright,” Carlos is compelled to state, his words interrupting Earl’s.

From the scientist’s peripherals, Adam kneels with a knife in hand. The weapon shines in the limited light from the doorway. The darkness has returned.

“ **You’re safe. You’re both safe.** ”

“How…” Carlos starts.

“Bloodstone reinforcement,” Adam murmurs grudgingly. “We can thank our...damned Old Woman for the new stone and dagger. Carlos, how do _you_ feel?”

“Did something happen to me?”

Cecil’s arm brushes against the scientist’s. “You were...smiling.”

Something thick coats Carlos’ throat. He feels his hair raise. His stomach drops.

“I love you,” Cecil reminds.

“Yeah,” Earl whispers, soft and perplexed. His face is pale but he stares up at the three. “You’re...you’re okay, Carlos. I’m...I’m here.”

“Oh shut it,” Adam growls from over top. “You have a habit of heroics when you’re scared, Harlan.”

Earl winces, sinking deeper into the box. “He was here.”

Adam shakes his head. “No. Kevin’s _not_ here.”

“Then...then what happened?” Earl asks, allowing Cecil to lift him from the box that reeks with the pungent smell of piss and cum.

Earl gasps as his knees fail to support him.

“ **The session is over** ,” Cecil thinks to Say. “ **You are Earl Harlan and you have full control of your limbs.** ”

The Order does not fix the strain on those same limbs from the seizure. Earl wobbles, awkwardly trying to find what will work and what will not. His ability to blush functions, cheeks burning red when Adam takes over, sweeping Earl off of his feet.

Cecil wraps his arms around Carlos. He pulls a towel the scientist had been reaching for, meant to clean up Earl. It is instead applied to Carlos’ palm. He suggests to Carlos, “Maybe tell us what happened?”

“Earl, you had a seizure,” Carlos answers, trying to recover himself. Extrapolating helps. “Your eyes were glowing and we could not wake you without…”

“Bloodstones,” Adam fills in.

“Thank you,” Cecil tosses in no direction at all.

Before the pair depart the room after Adam, cradling Earl, the Faceless Old Woman states, “You can leave the sundress anywhere.”

Earl is silent, moving minimally as he is eased into the full tub. The water has remained the temperature Earl likes, longer than it should have. Little gifts from the house. Adam is mindful to keep the readhead safely braced against the porcelain ledge. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I was back with him,” Earl whispers, lifting his knees up.

“But you know that it wasn’t real,” Cecil murmurs. “You were with us this entire time. Kevin cannot harm you here, my love.”

“It _felt_ so real.” Earl speaks lowly. His skin pebbles as warm water is poured over his head. His eyes slip closed as the three to start work on cleaning him up, washing him tenderly as he calms down. “Thank you,” he whispers.

“Was it the box?” Carlos asks.

“What do you mean?” Adam asks. “There was nothing amiss when I built it.”

“Do you remember when Earl had to safeword during our science fiction scene? The one with the slavers and the milking? It was because of too much sensory deprivation, right?”

Earl straightens, recalling that. “Yes, that’s true. It was dark and I felt...overwhelmed. Overstimulated, so I needed things to be adjusted so I could focus back on reality first. Kevin...often left me on the edge, in the dark, and found ways to make the sensation worse.”

“Were you overstimulated tonight?” Carlos leans upon reasoning. He feels like himself again.

“Not overly,” Earl admits. “I was hard, but not to extremes…”

“Your mind could have reverted back on expectations. Or old habits. M...Kevin would always leave you blind. Without something engaging your senses, your imagination, mixed with whatever happened to you during the Smiling God’s ritual,” Carlos continues, “these triggered your vision of Kevin. And your seizure is a result of your body rebelling.”

“So from now on we’ll just avoid blinding me in the future and that should help to avoid this, right?” Earl concludes.

Cecil shakes his head. “I’m so sorry, Early.”

Adam scowls. “Cecil, this isn’t on you. None of us could have predicted this. It’s the first time you’ve slipped into a seizure, right?”

Earl drops his head. “I think so.”

“You _think_ so?” Adam challenges. “Or you have…”

Cecil strokes Earl’s cheek with a disarming smile. “Maybe we should all take a break. Rely on stories until we have a better grasp on how much this affects you. What do you think?”

“I’m sorry for making our sessions change,” Earl glumly murmurs.

“Not forever,” Cecil plies.

“We’ll play it safe,” Adam adds. “You gave us a scare and I don’t like being scared.”

“Kevin’s gone,” Carlos murmurs. For himself. For Earl. He clenches a hand against the towel, relishing the dull thrum of pain. Of reality.

He is a scientist. He should be able to trust the things that are real.

Their blood combined on the Faceless Old Woman’s bloodstone had overwhelmed the Smiling God.

They’re together. They’re adults capable of consent and communications. They’re safe.

\--

The Faceless Old Woman drags the green dress closer to herself. She bunches it up, slithering into the cracks of the house. The walls inside the inner walls. The insulation that drips and hides the lizards and the electronic bugs that listen in on the ghosts of previous tenants.

There are stains on this dress. Usually, the stains disturb her. She does not care for the copulative acts and the games played by the people she lurks around. Often, sex is useful for distracting the attention of the people who would normally interrupt her important tasks.

Still, the dress and its stains are important. She brings it to the oldest foundations of the house. She is older still, but the sigils carved into the stone on the absolute bottom of the home are powerful.

Or, they were.

She lays the green fabric of the dress as an offering. She does not know why the protective wards are faltering.

It is not just this house.

It is every house in town.

Perhaps she will warn Cecil in the next day’s crossword puzzles. The bloodstone she had traded to Adam is not common. The properties required to overcome future seizures in the Smiling God’s Offering are hard to come by. More blood will be required next time. More so every time after that.

There is only so much blood in the Outsider.

The Faceless Old Woman understands many things.

She does not understand what is coming.

\--

Lauren understands many things.

She does not understand this.

There are actions, and there are consequences. There are rules laid out in a thick, heavily researched manual for employees. She knows that book inside and out. She loves that manual. She uses it, and follows it. She honours it, and the results have been good.

Despite the company’s failure to please the Smiling God, Lauren is turning the recent downturn into small gains.

She is baffled with this news, though. She leans forward, resting her elbows on the bloody surface of her desk. She rubs her temples with the tips of her fingers, contemplating the open letter. The cause of her irritation and growing concern.

Despite all of her hard work, they are bringing their Voice back.

\--

Earl is exhausted, but he doesn’t want to sleep. He is concerned that the empty desert with the circle might return. That he will mistake his pulse for the hum of approaching machinery. That he will have to untangle the experience he truly did not have with Kevin to see what is a warning, and what is old fears manifesting.

Even with Cecil wrapping around Earl like a parasite, and Adam snoring with one eye open by the door, Earl cannot bring himself to drift off. He pretends, instead.

His lovers would not like that. He understands why. He is terribly tired but he is afraid to admit that he is scared.

That he is angry at himself. This session could have gone differently. And he could do more to prove Kevin wrong. He doesn’t want to be the one inviting the Smiling God back.

His urges and fetishes say otherwise.

What is wrong with him?

In the dark, a bandaged hand curls around Earl’s. A silent finger traces letters against Earl’s skin.

*Go to sleep. If anything happens, I will come get you again.*

Earl bites his lip, eyes tingling with unexpected heat. Throat constricting, but not from outside pressure.

He squeezes the hand back.

He submits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is a lot harder to write the chapters where continuity and plot development are happening. We should just stick with pr0n. I think that's why you all come here, and we apologize that there was decidedly less of that this week.
> 
> Next week we fall back into old habits. The _good_ old habits. Not the ones where we are late and clueless and full of poor grammar.
> 
> Thanks for reading.


	16. Breaking (and Entering) a New Toy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fun flashback. Where Earl doesn't see Adam's new garage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer** Implied violence and dismemberment.

**Months Ago**

It would not be hard to make them see the light. Earl prefers being restrained and after he’s prepared, he needs time to undo his bindings. And if Carlos were to strike Cecil, the radio host would never expect it. One solid connection to daze or render him motionless. There are enough gags of different kinds to apply in the playroom. He could hold the limp body hostage and even if Earl were to free himself by then, Carlos could pretend he has a Voice. The Offering would listen to all demands. He would be careful. Attempt to use reasoning to talk Carlos out of harming Cecil. Out of harming himself if Cecil were unavailable. They are predictable. Carlos is expendable. All that matters is pleasing Master and the Smiling Go--

Carlos blinks, feeling eyes bore into him. He doesn’t turn to acknowledge Adam. He breathes in. He breathes out. He says his safeword.

The scene stops. So, too, does the unwelcome ideas.

\--

Earl joins them in the kitchen, a towel wrapped around his shoulders. “When did it start raining?”

“Hour ago?” Cecil guesses. He stands at Carlos’ back, rubbing circles into the scientist’s shoulders. From the window behind him, the yard is hard to see beyond the swarm of hovering piranha.

Adam lingers by the back exit to the garage. “Now that Earl’s done his shower...it’s late.”

“I’ll give you a ride,” Earl announces. “You walked here and that’s not an option for getting home now.”

“I could drive him,” Cecil interrupts. “You should be resting.”

Earl waves off the concern. “We hardly got started, so aftercare isn’t necessary. 

Carlos drops his head.

“Hey,” Cecil impresses upon the scientist. “He wasn’t angry.”

“I’m really not,” Earl agrees. He slides in beside Carlos. “You used your words. That’s what they’re for. No judgements.”

Carlos nods.

Adam clears his throat. “If Earl is capable of giving me a ride…”

“I am,” Earl prompts. He gives Adam a look that invites him to silence any further thoughts. Mainly, that the truck driver doesn’t want to go with Cecil, leaving Earl and Carlos alone together. Not if Carlos is unstable. When Carlos is off, Earl has also proven to be as vulnerable. They succumb together and _that_ is a problem. “My car is parked in the garage, and you’d have to run out to Cecil’s on the street.”

While it is possible for anyone else to borrow the vehicle, everyone nods at the logic. Cecil with his eyes on Carlos. Carlos with his head in his drink. Earl with an unflinching stare at Adam.

“Then take me home, I guess.”

\--

“You didn’t ask to spend the night,” Earl hums, checking the rearview mirror as the garage opens. Shining bodies of predator fish glint in the weakened street lamps. The creatures start fluttering in at the car when the garage door yawns wider.

Adam shrugs. “I don’t think that’d be appropriate,” he says over the sound of fish striking against the reversing car. “It’s...too new.”

Earl hums, paying more attention to navigating out of the driveway. After adjusting to the conditions, he says, “I don’t believe you. Something else keeps you from getting involved.”

Adam sighs. “I’m a fourth wheel.”

“Trucks need four wheels,” Earl laughs. “Should I be anonymously tipping your bosses about your lack of vehicular knowledge?”

Rolling his eyes, Adam mutters, “They wouldn’t care. I’m contracted for life with the company. But you three have established yourselves in that relationship. And I’m…”

“Only happy to watch us?” Earl guesses. “Only happy to watch _me?”_

“How about I ask an invasive question first,” Adam interrupts. “Before Carlos called his safeword, did you feel anything wrong?”

Earl does not answer, but he grips the steering wheel until it creaks.

“I’m here because of that,” Adam murmurs. “Because Carlos is a nice guy when he’s himself. And I feel bad about what you went through. I know Cecil will do everything he can to keep you both safe, but I also know how easy it is to take him. You three need me and you need me focused.”

“I agree,” Earl says flatly. “But it’s a little one-sided. You and Cecil write stories. I know you both respect the tastes of the other. You’d make a hell of a pair of Doms. While I respect that joining us means you’d have to be comfortable with two others, and they should be comfortable with you, I want to know if _what we have_ is going to be _enough_ for you?”

Adam exhales. “It can be.”

They slow as a particular school of the raining creatures make visibility impossible. Earl throws the high beams up in case other drivers are as crazy enough to be on the road.

“Should I be nicer to Carlos?” Adam asks abruptly.

Earl raises his brows, the shadows making his face hide. “I think Carlos appreciates that you are as stern as you are. And I personally find it easier to invest in scenes when you’re present.”

“If I were a Dom, I’d know that Masters need to take care of their property. Being careless leads to broken toys.”

Earl presses the gas with more force than he had intended, jerking the car forward into more light. In the orange glow, his face is flushing. He is silent on the rest of the drive, a few beasts trying to gnaw their way through the roof. Earl makes sharp turns to knock them free.

He pulls up in Adam’s driveway, inching as close to the house as he can get. Then, he kills the engine.

“My garage door doesn’t open, um...I should fix that,” Adam confesses, breaking the tenure of silence. His car being trapped inside had been one of the reasons he had walked to Cecil’s. His truck rests at the truck yard, also within walking distance.

“Maybe for now you can fix a broken toy…?” Earl murmurs.

Adam stalls. “If you want to stay the night…” -- which wouldn’t be appropriate at all -- “We can dash inside, using all of our considerable talents to be unharmed. I might have to find room to see where to put a new plaything though…”

Earl twists his lips, looking conflicted. Adam immediately suspects that he’s asked for too much. If Earl turns him down, it is simply because the ginger wants to get back to the others. To Cecil and Carlos, whom Earl has an established relationship with. Adam understands. He does. “I hear you treat your playthings...rough.”

Those lips sitting under freckles quirk into a small grin. A challenge.

“If I beat you inside,” Adam drawls. “I’m saving a fish to punish that cock.”

“And if I win?” Earl presses.

“I’ll be sucking it, but you’ll still be property.”

Earl shifts in his seat and Adam remembers that they had not gotten far in their session. It’s too dark to tell if Earl is hard but Adam could bet money and be okay with the odds. “What will you do, I wonder, if my owner finds out you’ve stolen me…”

Adam starts to question boundaries again but Earl slips a piece of paper his way. Under the metallic thud of fish bodies, the red-head waits for Adam to read it. The dim light slowly reveals Carlos and Cecil’s writing. It grants him permission to keep Earl for the night.

“Really?” Adam whispers.

Earl’s eyes gleam.

“And you’re okay with this too?”

“I asked,” Earl confesses. “Ceec said it was about time. Carlos had to make sure by asking several questions all meaning the same thing: that it was really okay for me.”

“And it is?” Adam presses.

Earl rolls his eyes. “If we don’t move soon, the rain will get in.”

“Then in answer to your question; if your Masters come calling, I’m sure I can give them the few copper you’re worth to satisfy them,” Adam replies. “First one to the house?”

“Cock fish or sucking,” Earl winks.

\-----

When the rain eventually stops, Earl is tied up and finally enjoying his aftercare. His lips are swollen. A blanket is tucked around his bruised arms and legs. A fish lies lifeless in the sink while Adam paces with a phone to his ear, speaking to Cecil.

“He performed astoundingly tonight. How’s your scientist?”

Cecil’s excitable tone reports that their night had been exciting as well. “But while we rest, Earl’s got some stamina.”

“So don’t believe the slut if he says he’s done?” Adam asks, leaning in the doorway.

“Olive,” hums the body on the bed.

“Gotta go,” Adam whispers into the receiver. He tosses the phone aside and crawls onto the mattress. “You really don’t care who uses you, do you?”

With a limb drawn to each of the bed posts, Earl swears in dramatic protest. The fond praise behind Adam’s words are nice. When Earl’s called a slut, it is both demeaning _and_ lovingly granted.

Not anyone gets do that, though. Adam appreciates having the chance. Especially _after_ the events in Desert Bluffs. It’s good to be included.

"Your Master is coming to fetch you later, and I’d like to let him know you’ve been put through the paces. Running away from him was foolish, but I think you wanted me to catch you…”

\--

Adam wakes to the smell of bacon and coffee. He cracks an eyelid and sees Earl folding his clothes at the end of the bed. The brunet scowls. “I’m supposed to look after you in the morning. Didn’t I tie you up?”

Earl smirks. “I’m recovered. Try harder next time. You work in an hour.”

Adam sighs. Earl is correct, and now that he has this -- Earl Harlan in one of his shirts -- he is off to New York again. He may be gone a day. It could be weeks or months. Time is broken.

“So,” Earl queries, a gleam in his eye. “Before the others come and get me, should I seek signs of your return so that I may burgle your house?”

Adam grins. “My house is burglar proof. I’d catch any fool who tried that.”

Nodding as he exits the room, Earl simply says, “good.”

\--

Thirteen days later, Earl breaks into the house. He’s completely silent. Adam only detects him because the truck driver had also been a Scout.

There is a fight. The scuffle elaborate and overexaggerated. Adam finally gets the figure in dark, form-fitting clothes into a chokehold. He keeps it carefully tight as his assailant grows limp.

“You okay?” he whispers.

“Olive,” murmurs Earl.

Adam snorts before the masked figure shuts his eyes and stops moving completely. He doesn’t even help Adam as he is lifted to the bed. The bastard.

The larger of the two ties his captive to the bed, noting how the ‘unconscious’ burglar blushes when he’s inspected. Fingers play with the elastic pantline. One hand turns a loose neck one way, and then the mask is pried free so Adam can more closely admire the slack features. Earl tries very hard to keep from twitching as he is appraised.

Adam is hard already. He had been halfway there waiting for the break-in. This potential session had been all he had thought of during his latest trip. Cecil’s odd texts had given Adam the vague instructions that only make sense now. Earl will only ‘rouse’ when Adam is ready for him. It will be signified through a slap.

Adam nearly laughs when he wakes the red-head with a tempered backhand. His friend had earned his acting badge after all. It shows how his eyes flash, both frightened and enraged. He stutters, confused and trying to be clever. Gauging openings while desperation creeps upon him. Bonds are tested. He is even shamefully trying to ignore how his own cock is visibly throbbing.

“Little thieves always piss me off,” Adam hisses, very close to Earl’s face.

Before the burglar can protest, Adam silences him with a rolled up sock.

“No, no. I don’t think I want the neighbours to think I’m being robbed,” coos the homeowner. “After all, they might try to save me. Wouldn’t want the distraction. Now, what should you and I do to pass the time, hmm? If you’re so fond of taking other people’s things, perhaps it is only fair I take something from you.”

Mismatched eyes widen and Earl whimpers, tugging on his restraints. He shakes his head, offering apologetic pleas from around the sock. His cock, however, tells a different story. It presses against his pants, peeking over the border. Glazing at the tip.

“You didn’t do your research, did you?” hums Adam. “You thought that the Secret Police avoid my place so it was open season, hmmm? Want to know why they don’t offer surveillance? They’re scared of me, little ginger.”

Adam should very well have had his own acting badge. The sinister purr makes Earl cower, eyes bright and wide as he is left to watch Adam rise. A dark shape in a room that loudly opens a drawer. Questionable things bump and clatter against wood.

“Nobody will miss you, and we’ve got all the time in the world.”

Earl whines, lust and imagined fear intoxicating him. He spreads his legs wider, hips arching in little jolts.

“I think you wanted to be caught,” Adam huffs, amused. “A little filthy slut, looking for a proper fuck for once. Hmm?”

Adam holds up a rope, short and thick. Rough. It is meant for holding things that are best left forgotten in the wastes. It could be filthy and old, though the former Scoutmaster had crafted it in Mid-Eastern motel rooms for this very scenario. He pulls a knife and sitting on the edge of the bed, he cuts away his captive’s clothes.

Earl’s garments -- cheap, black items from the local thrift shop -- are carved away. The brunet lets his hefty blade touch at the quivering leg hidden underneath. Cold metal on warm skin. It pitches Earl’s keens into a higher octave.

And then the eager cock is prying against a pair of briefs. The head rises to touch at skin, and Adam helps it escape fully by sliding the point of the knife against cloth. He is showing off, and Earl is captivated. He holds perfectly flat and frozen against the mattress.

“Beautiful,” Adam praises. “I should thank you for making this so easy. I was bored, you know.”

Earl is gorgeously hard and swollen. Adam knows how to make a makeshift cockring with the rope. A bit of sounding with a coarse knot containing the head, and the truck driver will be free to find what things he owns to help himself cum over the naked, needy slut.

An hour lazily and gloriously passes in this way. Earl finally is given leave to cum, and he clings to Adam when liberated, moaning mindlessly as he feels fingers carding through his hair.

“If there were a Submissive badge, you would have it,” Adam admires.

“I don’t think I’d be as bold as you,” Earl sighs. “I can see you wearing a Dominant badge in public.”

“I actually prefer this secret side of you being private,” Adam confesses. “Means I have less rivals.”

“There’s Cecil,” notes Earl.

“Yes, but he doesn’t count. He knows everything in town.”

“I like how you’re borrowing ideas from him,” Earl says as he nestles into the other’s thigh.

“And what makes you think this wasn’t all my work?” Adam grunts.

The snort Earl makes has Adam curling hair around his fingers in warning. The ginger is unphased. “The ‘homeowner secretly and creepily has a stash of dildoes stolen from other townspeople’ angle is all Cecil.”

Adam groans. “He did suggest that, yes. When he found out I have a big collection.”

Earl sighs. “Did I mention I don’t work tomorrow?”

Adam peers down smugly. “Then tomorrow is reserved to locking you in the basement and showing off my...other creepy collections on you.”

“Oh?”

“And there might be guests.”

“Oh?!”

Adam attempts to shush Earl with the sock. The redhead squirms away with a laugh.

“You’re supposed to be overwhelmed and out like a good, beaten burglar.”

“I never learned my Unconsciousness badge,” Earl teases. “Should I be worried about those guests?”

Adam wraps an arm around Earl’s middle. “One’s as twisted and wicked as me. I might even pawn you off on him, so in case your burglar self decided to tell anyone about your plans, they’ll never trace your disappearance to me.”

“Clever,” Earl whispers.

“Another of Cecil’s ideas,” Adam dryly murmurs. He endures another snort, adding it to tomorrow’s ledger.

“I’m sleeping with the start of a criminal organization,” Earl grins.

“We’ll start our very own prostitution ring,” yawns the brunet. “You are worth more as merchandise. We’ll make you believe it.”

A calloused hand reaches down and teases Earl’s member as he snuggles closer. There may still be another round left in the pair before morning.

Shuddering, Earl gasps, “Clients...from all over...different tastes…”

“You’d need a nickname,” Adam purrs. “Red Handed?”

Those hands cover his face as he softly laughs.

\--

Cecil is on the phone the next morning. “Oh, but he could be a famous jewel thief with many enemies!”

“Who got caught in some twisted bloke’s house? I dunno…” drawls Adam.

Earl sleeps upstairs, not making breakfast today. Adam had made sure that the idea couldn’t even cross the other’s mind.

“A lookalike?” Cecil breathily asks. “Oh, Early _isn’t_ the famous thief, but he’s made a mistake picking your house. Maybe his first robbery, and...wait wait wait! Twins, separated at birth!”

Adam groans. He can hear Carlos doing the same in the background.

Cecil covers the phone and speaks quieter, no doubt wary of having Carlos tease him. “Think of it. We can be posh art owners, incensed at how we were robbed. And now we’ve got a way to vent our frustrations.”

“You two have fun getting prepped, then,” Adam closes. “I’ll be getting the...thief prepared.”

Carlos says something in the background to the effect of “Cecil” and “what even?!”

“But Carlos! Maybe the real robber has eyes that are red and black, and black and red. Not black and red, and red and black!”

“I’m hanging up now,” Adam warns.

“Think of it,” hisses the radio host one last time before the line dies.

\--

Adam mounts Earl on the bed, the redhead gasping as if he has been woken.

“Safeword?”

“Olive.”

The brunet then forces the sock back into those thin lips and pulls a hood out of his back pocket. He lets Earl thrash as he applies it. Then, he strings a proper knot around the naked thief’s cock before releasing his bonds and quickly tying Earl’s hands behind him. The cock is tugged in warning to discourage any misbehaviour.

In this way, Adam is able to lead Earl down the stairs, carefully clutching the base of the hood by his neck.

There is concrete under Red Handed’s knees when he is pushed over. A metal pipe descending down from the ceiling becomes a focal point for the next scene, not that Earl can see it. He’s never been in Adam’s garage before.

He is pulled to his toes by a bungee cord that hooks under his chin. If he relaxes, he feels it grate against his throat. It’s affixed to an apparatus Adam’s built into the post. If enough weight settles over it, the item will give.

Earl tries to adjust his arms, which are lashed firmly behind him. His flesh puckers when Adam starts to overwhelm the space with the volume of numerous power tools. They sound wicked and beyond their din, the ginger cannot place where his keeper is.

Adam approaches, ripping away an outer layer of the hood. It reveals burlap, enough so Earl can see some shapes and outlines of the garage. He nods and huffs gratefully. He thinks sensory deprivation would trigger a reaction and neither want to ruin the scene.

Then comes the first of the unexpected flogging. Something thick lashes across Earl’s bare hip.

He howls against his gag. The protest does not cease the action. His freckled body slowly becomes striped by the blows. Each time he squirms, the bungee cord around his neck suffocates his moans. He closes his eyes, imagining things that he really shouldn’t be imagining. His cock grows hard from the punishment and soon, even that becomes a target for punishment.

“Left foot for olive, right for clover,” murmurs a soft voice that hardly sounds like the sadistic homeowner.

Earl nasally inhales, considering. Then he stamps his left foot.

“And to think I could have installed an alarm, or something,” a breath ghosts over Earl’s collar immediately. Rough fingers play with his nipples. They are teased into hard nubs and Earl writhes. “You scream louder than whatever the security guys could install. But go on. No one will hear you down here.”

Earl tries again to beg for freedom. Adam answers by scraping teeth against his Adam’s apple. The handle of the crop rubs against the underside of his erection.

“I don’t want you soiling my floor just yet, you delinquent.”

Earl whines, thrusting his hips forward. He silently begs for some release, but the rope that had been tied on his cock is unforgiving. It is tightened as he is teased and played with.

“And you’ve pissed off a lot of people...more than me,” Adam whispers, lips slowly closing in on a nipple. He bites, _hard_ , forcing a scream out of Earl. A bruise will start. The ginger stamps his left foot as Adam nuzzles closer to the other nub. He breathes, “Two of your fans are interested enough to come over and help me sort out what’s to be done with you,” he says before he gives the same treatment to the other breast.

Earl weeps, shaking his head as much as he is allowed. Adam slips a hand up to cup his prisoner’s face through the sack. He roughly strokes fabric against Earl’s chin before he pulls out the sock through the hood.

“Oh Gods, olive, I…” he gasps. “I’m not...not anyone. Please, I haven’t…”

The sock is shoved in with more force. Adam gives the first afflicted nipple a twist before he departs, leaving his prey to squirm and wait. “You are who we say you are.”

From Earl’s left, he hears something sparking and sputtering. Brief flares are all his hood lets in. He tries not to think too hard of what tools are surrounding him. Of what his captors might do.

Moments pass. He moans softly in intervals, his chest heaving and his heart dancing underneath. There is loose electricity. A drill, maybe. A motor guns and perhaps a chainsaw or a table saw scream. Earl cannot stay still, the cord tugging at his gullet as he tries to close his legs. Apply some pressure to his bound cock.

Oh Masters, he is unbearably hard right now. He lets his left heel ping into the post, just in case Adam is watching. Yes, _yes, please!_

\--

“Cecil, what are you wearing?” Adam asks flatly when he opens the front door.

“I’m an art collector,” Cecil says, gesturing down at himself as if that should have been obvious. He’s in an incredibly large and fluffy fur coat with matching boots and pants. He’s shirtless, save for large chains of gold and silver. The necklaces are adorned in pendants of famous paintings. All of them are 3-D.

“He insisted,” Carlos explains.

Cecil doesn’t step into Adam’s house. He _flounces_ in. Carlos, by comparison, wears a lab coat but with a doctored name badge -- Art Appraiser.

“So, I’ve got a little criminal in my shed,” Adam drawls, trying to keep in character. Cecil’s doing a fine job of it, after all.

The fluffiest of the three huffs, placing his hands on his hips in a grandiose gesture of displeasure and anger. “He stole my best paintings,” he growls. “I hope we can make him suffer for the trouble he’s caused.”

“Just try not to kill him,” Carlos reminds.

Cecil sniffs, as if offended at the reminder. “I know, it won’t be like the last time, Darling.”

Adam leads the pair into the garage, and upon entering, Cecil gasps. His eyes widen and he claps ringed hands together in delight and wonder. “Oh, this shed is...ominous!”

“Yes,” Adam agrees, speaking over the roar of his tools. “I do a lot of work here. In regards to your appraiser, if you happen to kill the punk, I can make him disappear. But I’d rather have my fun, first.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Cecil gushes, circling the figure who stiffens at the new voices. “Look at this. Tied up and no place to go. You cost me a great deal, you pretty skank.”

Earl shakes his head desperately, unable to communicate that he doesn’t know what the man is talking about. The new hand is lifting the rope tightened around a swelling erection.

“I see some nails. Think we can keep this one from spilling what we don’t give him permission to spill?”

“They’re on the floor,” Adam lies, taking a box of sanitized sounding rods and handing them to Carlos.

“And he’s a dirty whore who takes from walls,” Cecil blithely hisses. “Let him have what’s on the floor. I told you I’d pay handsomely for your cooperation. A criminal breaks into what’s yours and you get rich off of it. Are you complaining?”

“Not if I get to watch,” Adam replies.

Carlos gives the box a tentative shake and Earl reacts beautifully.

The ginger shudders at the sensation of the leash around his cock being tugged. He whimpers as he tries again to move his head. To push out the sock and beg or reason against this. He doesn’t know what Cecil’s character is talking about. He’s never stolen from anyone else before. He sobs into the sock, the cloth becoming soggy with drool. His abdomen shudders with need. He can see their outlines through his hood and his mind tells him they are holding wicked and painful instruments.

“I dunno,” Carlos murmurs, picking up things and putting them down loudly. The heavy objects around the garage clunk resoundingly against wood, concrete, and other tools. Each time, Earl shivers or twitches. It’s fascinating. “The man who stole from your collection was pretty sophisticated. This doesn’t add up. I don’t think this is our guy.”

Earl listens, but finds no sign of sympathy from this reasonable one. Carlos speaks the truth, but does it so clinically that he could care less for the poor man strapped to the post.

“Oh tut, a criminal is a criminal. He fits our description,” dismisses Cecil. A gloved hand is suddenly fondling Earl’s testicles where the rope does not cover them. Another plays with the lash burns on Earl’s inner thigh. “I need to vent my wrath on something.”

Still the voice of reason, entranced by the reactions by their hostage, Carlos says, “what do we do when we are finished, then?”

“Well, it’s not like we’re going to go to the police,” Cecil drawls.

Carlos hums curiously. Their captive listens very closely, toes curling.

“You don’t get to lock a person in a basement or garage,” Adam muses. “Not without consequences.”

“Oh?” Carlos asks.

“I’ve done this a few times. When you’re done with him, and when I’m done with him, it’ll be like nothing ever happened here. I’ll make him go away.”

“Like my art did,” Cecil snaps, slapping the side of Earl’s ass red in time with his words. “I want that ass penetrated.”

Earl leans into the pole with a choking sob. More rummaging is heard. “We can do that.”

Another sparking sound sputters into the space. “Car batteries?”

Earl bounces on his toes, left foot deliberately patting as he tenses. Suddenly, there is something pressing into the tip of his penis.

“Did you forget that we were looking to nail you?”

It is Carlos, sounding curiously, ominously unemotional. Intrigued. Oh Gods…

Earl squeals helplessly as the appraiser performs a slow, careful insertion. “We need something to hook up to that current, after all.”

Earl’s chest quivers as he shakes, and Carlos rises to lay a hand flat over where the heart is. Both comforting and assertive. This is a game. This is a game. This is a game.

“Do you think it will burn off?” Cecil muses, smiling as the sound of the sparking battery behind him drowns out the sound of the much safer toy wand.

“I hope not,” Adam purrs. “I think it would make a nice trophy.”

The first few sparks strike Earl’s chest, harmlessly shocking the nipples that sport marks from Adam’s teeth.

“Pwwwwwwssssss,” screams their subject. “Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm ssssssssss ssssssssssrrrrrrrryyyyyyyy!”

A set of hands wrap around him from behind, pulling Earl closer to the post as the wand skips lower. “We could pierce these.”

A second set of arms pull at Earl’s legs. It is reassuring. It is also constricting. Then, a cold wet finger slides into Earl.

The minor current touches at Earl’s belly, counting the spasming muscles. Each shock causes Earl to react as if the voltage were much higher and he clenches around the finger prying at his ass.

“Ooooh, make him scream some more.”

He whimpers as he feels lips pressed to his calves. The finger moves lazily inside of him, and he chokes back a sob when it feels good. He would have cum by now if he could.

The wand finds the trail of his pubic hair, strands starting at his belly button and blazing down. It lazily sputters closer and closer to the sounding rod, which Earl believes is a nail. He rocks back on the finger trying to get away.

“What name shall we burn into him?”

“If he’s the art thief or not, let’s stick with ‘Red.’ That’s all that will be left with him when he’s proven no more entertainment,” Adam reasons. “I’ll go heat up the irons.”

Earl tosses his head back, straining against the cords and creating an opportunity to rock onto the now two fingers invading him. Spreading him. As awful as branding him is, he hopes they’ve forgotten about the battery and the nail in his cock.

A pair of fingers pinch the top of the insertion, slipping it out in a small way. Something heavy and iron falls in the background.

“Oh, that’s...devious,” Cecil purrs. Earl cannot know what he refers to, though the thin layer of his hood shows something bright and white hot.

“I think,” murmurs the appraiser on the ground. “Instead of burying him…”

“Pieces of him,” Adam corrects over the noises he makes.

Carlos clears his throat. “I was considering concrete, actually. Perhaps a new exhibit.”

“Oh!” gushes the collector, who lays the inactive wand onto the tip of Earl’s cock. “So I can always look at and remember these times.”

Continuing, Carlos offers, “It’s not hard to keep a human body alive. We retain him in concrete in a position that leaves him...enjoyable. Maybe on his back with his legs up and open? His arms can be left encased. He won’t need them. Or a mask with a breathing tube. Trap his legs and raise his arms. Concrete can have everything above his neck. Like a human column. Carve some nice things into the stone and set him in your fountain. He won’t ever see again but you’ll see all of him. IVs and a proper waste management. He’d live a long time. A living art project.”

“Oh wow,” Cecil breathes, lovingly adoring both the listening Earl and a hesitant Carlos. “You really know your art.”

Earl jerks when the wand ignites the sounding rod.  

“We could do this all day,” Carlos murmurs, so Earl can hear. “Fuck him, or feed him, or put him in storage when you’ve moved onto the new fads and fancies. If you want private art showings, you wind his cock up a little.”

“This is why I hired you,” Cecil beams. “You’ve got the best eye for art.”

Adam clears his throat. “I’m a little concerned. My commission. And if you’re going to display your pretty little toy, what does that mean for me and my fun?”

“Oh,” Cecil muses, tapping the nail once more with the wand. Earl jumps, tightening his airway and also twitching against Carlos’ fingers. “I didn’t say he needed to be pristine. The best masterpieces have flaws.”

“And you act as if you cannot come play with him as you wish,” Carlos adds. “I think your contribution could be worth a lifetime membership to the board. And we may need someone who can remove limbs that are useless for display purposes.”

Adam chuckles, the sound carrying. The metal poker glows in the furnace and Earl is tensing up, making it clear he can see the light too. “I’m not really an art gallery kind of guy. But I do like offering out my services in maintenance and...removal of unwanted things.”

A hand lovingly strokes Earl’s ribs. “You picked the wrong house to loot, didn’t you, Love? But you’ll be appreciated this way.”

Carlos adds a third finger and Earl hungrily settles around it with a high pitched keen.

“Art is not usually so noisy, but we can let this one keep its vocal chords.”

Earl would thrust and rock further down if he could. He cannot, with his legs pinned by a body and his insides probed thoroughly. The bungee cord leaves him breathless and the red hot glow approaches.

Someone circles a spot on Earl’s naked hip. “Right here for a brand.”

“Anything specific to say?”

Adam has planned this out with Cecil, over the phone. The heated iron is replaced out of sight by a child’s hair curler. Carlos had tested it to prove it could not burn. Earl smells the smouldering iron and hears it on flesh, but the sensation he feels will startle him enough to believe he really is being scarred. He clenches around Carlos’ three fingers and scratches feebly with his left foot.

Then his skin bubbles and he bites down on the sock, trying to jerk away as he is held by two bodies.

“There, there,” Cecil consoles, patting Earl’s ass while it continues to be fucked by fingers. “Oooh, we should remove his hood and get a good look at his face, hmmm?”

“Once he’s seen our faces, we can’t let him go,” notes Carlos.

“You were never going to free him anyhow, and if you’re thinking of mercy, I’m going to take him back,” Adam warns as he rips the mask free.

The brightness of the room dazzles Earl. The hapless thief attempts to spit free the sock, afraid to look any of them in the eye. His face is flush and he finds the tether helpful in averting his focus. Adam, though, grips the slut’s jaw. “Beg some more.”

“He’s ready down here,” Carlos concludes, withdrawing his hands and leaving Earl’s ass noticeably bare.

Cecil kisses Earl’s neck once below the bungee cord before he kneels to lick stripes along Earl’s hips, playing with the ‘burnt’ flesh. Pulling sounds out of Earl as slowly as possible.

Carlos rises to inspect the tears slipping down Earl’s cheeks. “Such a pretty facial structure. We could make moulds of it and sell them. We’ll avoid destroying this part of him, hmm? Everything else is fair game.”

From the floor, Cecil murmurs, “imagine letting him cum to an audience. Oh, we could sell a few seats to that.”

“No quick orgasms, though,” Adam deadpans.

“That’s fine. A few things will keep him warm while...oh that is far too big to fit.”

Carlos looks around the corner, behind Earl. “I’d disagree. His ass was pretty eager for my fingers.”

The ginger mewls, begging for them to spare him of what comes next. He is slapped, Adam jerking his head to regard the still glowing pit for metal work. “Be grateful, crook, that we’re not heating anything for you to sit on.”

Earl’s eyes glaze in lust and fear, his lungs inflating heavily as he feels something thick and cruel press against his ass. He gasps as his gag is removed, blinking as Carlos waves a hand in his face. The man in the lab coat watches intently for how Earl’s eyes follow the movement.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” he says, lowly.

Earl swallows. “I...I didn’t steal olive those paintings, please…”

“Are you sure?”

“Olive. Yes. Please.”

Cecil is not gentle when he pushes the toy in and Earl cries out. The metal and stone surroundings carry the sound.

“Fuck it,” Adam growls. “Fuck it or I’ll take a hammer to the dirty lil’ nail in your cock and you can have a permanent souvenir from your little home invasion.”

“Ah…!”

Earl trembles, slowly rocking down on the intrusion. “Gods…” he groans, shamefully fucking himself. He yelps in surprise when Carlos uses a crop on his stomach, avoiding older marks to leave new ones.

“Faster,” the appraiser sweetly says. “You can fuck yourself faster, slut. Prove it.”

Earl sobs, gasping ‘olives’ as he tries. He bows his head and feels the constrictions of the bungee cord. His eyes unfix, until coarse fingers start to violate his mouth, prying his jaw back.

His knees weaken. Earl knows that if he loses his balance, he’ll lose the end of the scene. Consciousness is wavering but he wants to finish. As far as his character knows, he will strangle himself. The ginger struggles to keep his feet under him as he grinds up and down. Saliva slides down his chin. The fingers replace the sock but his mouth is so dry, the spit works to fix that. His sight blurs, creating shadows of his leering, toothy captors. Flames dance on the wall. The decor helps him believe that he’ll never leave this place, save for perhaps coming awake in a polished gallery, one of the displays.

Oh Masters…

They are crowding him. They are invading him. He’s so hard and he’s begging for release. His character wants to live and Earl Harlan wants so badly to cum.

Then suddenly, the pressure is released from his neck. He doesn’t know if it is because his body collapses and the cord falls loose from his weight. He feels three sets of hands support him. He is pulled forward, dizzy. Then a voice from somewhere announces, “he’ll fit on the work table.”

“Clo…” Earl moans.

He can’t remember if he gets the full word out. Or even if he means to say a safeword, or that he just needs to tell them he is close.

The cold ground supports his side and the nail is removed. Earl cums immediately. He recalls his thigh twitching. Adam kneeling. Nothing more than a distant, far off thrum.

\--

Carlos knots his coat in his hands. It’s strange, standing in a strange kitchen. He remembers learning the layout of another man’s kitchen, once. That had been when Carlos had been more productive, once.

Adam steps in. “Tea? Beer? Whatever the sink decides to pour out?”

“I’m fine,” Carlos dismisses.

Adam shrugs a shoulder, pulling open the fridge to withdraw a brown bottle. “Good ear, back there.”

“Hmm?”

“Hearing his safeword. He waited too long, but you were the one to catch it. That was...that was nice. I got lost in it.”

Carlos drops his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, I...I’m pretty observant sometimes.”

Adam tips his bottle at his guest. “Would you and Cecil like to stay the night?”

Carlos looks up at Adam, considering the offer. He continues to toy with the bottom of his labcoat. He reminds himself that he was the one who caught the use of the safeword and he was the one who alerted the others to end it.

He is good.

“...I think I’d like that,” he says, nodding slowly at the other.


	17. Red Meat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The slave is not good WITH dishes. But ON them...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer** : Bad end and cannibalism, with full disregard for how bodies usually work in order to prolong suffering/sex. This is as messed up as the dishes...

Earl is completely naked, wearing nothing but a brown leather collar around his throat. The redhead stands in the kitchen by the sink, working on the dishes that Cecil and Carlos had helpfully saved for a few days, making the task seem far longer and crueler than would be normal for the three. He flinches when he hears familiar footsteps behind him, biting his lip as he plays the part of a nervous slave.

"Are these clean? Because I plan to stick what fits in you, slut,” Cecil giggles, standing beside the naked slave and gesturing to cutlery in the soapy water.

"Do I need to give you some motivation to make sure these plates are cleaned off completely, whore?" Carlos demands, standing directly behind him.

"No Masters," Earl whispers with a waver.

"This is why you were so cheap at market," Carlos mutters, reaching around Earl to grip his cock. "Because you're so lazy...aren't you?"

"No," Earl sobs. He tries not to look or lean into the hand. He tries to scrub harder. Carlos starts to stroke him slowly, moving his thumb lazily around the head. Earl bucks, not meaning to.

"Is that all you're good for?" Carlos asks with a sneer, still stroking him. Earl's knees knock into the pantry. He grits his teeth as his arms plunge deeper into the water. The food is floating, filthy. He cannot see the bottom of the sink. "Perhaps it's too much to ask you to do anything else but warm our beds," he coos, pulling down his own pants, pressing his erection against him.

Earl bites deeply into his lower lip. Cecil grabs the dish soap bottle. He knows behind his back it is switched with lube but… "I'll fuck this whore first," Carlos tells Cecil. "You can have him afterwards."

"Sounds fair to me," Cecil grants. "Then we chain him back to the bed. He doesn't deserve to see anything else but a bedroom."

Earl pulls a glass out nervously but lets it slip from his fingers. The old thing chips, only proving their point. His ass is given a sharp slap in punishment, Carlos grips his hips tight. "Useless!" he snarls, using his fingers roughly to prepare him. Cecil knocks at Earl's heels, spreading his stance. "Brace yourself," Carlos warns, pressing his cock against Earl's hole.

Earl whimpers and the first thrust is tight and wonderful. He moans loudly as he's penetrated, bracing himself on the counter, bowing his head.

"Since you chipped a cup, I think you should fill it with your cum," Cecil decides. Earl whines, panting as he plays the terrified pet. "And if you can't...there's always the butcher shop," Cecil adds with a smile. Earl cums immediately at that and misses the cup entirely. "Useless!"

Earl whines as he's filled with Carlos' seed, forced to wait as Cecil takes him next.

Carlos makes a show of opening his phone, calling their ‘butcher’, Adam. "Are you still paying for fresh meat stock?" He smiles as he listens, leaning forward to tease and pinch Earl’s nipples. “We’ll have the whore ready in an hour. Can you accept him when we drop him off.”

Earl is tightly bound and gagged, ready to be picked up and taken to the butcher shop. He is forced into a humiliating hogtie, legs bent and tied together. His skin bulges slightly at the tight ropes, like a cut of meat ready for the oven. He's given a spider gag, allowing him to whimper and try to plea for his life, unable to do anything else but squirm, panting. His cock, however, is hard again.

They drop him off and discuss their options outside of the room. He can hear everything -- "If he is as you say, he will stew excellently in his own juices," says Adam. "I will inspect him of course. We do that for quality. Marinate him as we prepare. A day or two. Can he stay hard without help? Well, I have tools for that. So my question now is, how do you prefer your meat?"

Earl pants, eyes fluttering as he listens to their conversation. His hips roll forward, imagining everything. The moment he begins to find some friction with his limited grinding, Adam jogs in, wearing a bloodstained apron.

"Nice try, meat. Here we go." A leather cock bag is tucked onto Earl’s member. The inside tip has a minor rod that prys against the slit in warning. Each shift pierces Earl and he falls very still. Adam tightens the straps and immediately, the cock has no freedom to move. Earl's eyes tear. "Here you go...now let's get you ready for the marinade I made for you, hm? Should be easy enough!"

He picks him up, placing him on a covered table where a mirror is set up for Earl to watch. Adam pulls thick gloves on, bringing a pot out that is full of a glaze. It smells spicy. Rich and sweet. Adam sniffs it savouringly before he starts to slather it onto Earl's skin.

"A friend of mine developed the base. It soaks into the flesh slowly, leaving the nerves excited and hypersensitive. This moisturizes the skin so it flakes but doesn't burn when grilled and the shock won’t be able to kill so the meat is as rare as it can be while cooking. The meat also feels most of it, so the juices and adrenaline add to the distinct flavour. Nobody else does their cooking like me."

From the doorway, Cecil watches hungrily. Carlos just glares at the panicked meal.

Earl watches through the mirror as his body is covered, moaning as his skin starts to shine from the oil. He mewls at the mention of how long his death will take, shaking his head as he tries to get away. Adam slides one rubber finger, sticky with glaze, into Earl's open-gagged mouth. The prisoner groans, blushing at the taste. He looks at his assailant with watery eyes, trying to appear pathetic.

Adam chuckles, immune to such tactics. "I think this will cook nicely. I'll run my inspection now. It will take awhile. I'm...thorough."

The ginger pants, lying miserably on the table, blushing as he feels gloved hands on his ass, parting his cheeks, a single finger teasing his hole. Adam fucks him with a ‘carrot’, really a coloured dildo, just to determine length. Stretch. Earl gasps as he watches, feeling the alien intrusion explore him.

"They worked you over," he admires, putting a carrot very much like the one that had violated his ass into Earl's open mouth. "That's good! You'll be able to take the stuffing easier inside of you before you're roasted."

Earl wails around the degrading mouthful and his gag. His sore ass is stroked in compensation. Adam moves on to kneading the thighs, looking for sensitivity and plumpness. Massaging hips and flicking nipples. "I have many ways to do these nubs. I wonder what suits you, hmmm?"

Earl chokes and mewls as he shakes his head.

"A nice roasting...and perhaps a smoking." Adam murmurs options to himself as he picks up a baster and fills it with glaze. Then, he prods the cock case open enough to squeeze the contents into the tight enclosure. Cool liquid seeps uncomfortably around the skin of Earl's penis.

Adam sets a timer and declares Earl will wait. An apple is pushed into his gag, juices streaming down his chin as much as becoming trapped in his mouth. The carrot is returned to his ass. "I will reapply the glaze in a few hours. See how your body is handing the hormones..."

Earl cries, drooling saliva and apple juice down his chin and heaving chest. He shudders at the sensation of the liquid on his cock, moving whenever he does.

 **You don't hear anyone enter** , Says Cecil, creeping in. **Time passes. Your nerves become aware of air currents. Your arousal is stronger and has a taste. A smell. You feel your cock stewing in its need and you can only wiggle to make your prostate fuck against the carrot. You are scared and you are human, degraded to a pig. You can't stop thinking of how it might go.**

Adam spies from the doorway. "How fucking weird that I really want to taste him right now?" he whispers to Carlos.

Carlos blushes, licking his lips slowly. "He's beautiful," he whispers to Adam, smiling at him shyly.

Adam steps in after three or four minutes, ignoring Earl as he starts to put together a stuffing. He lets a power knife hum on the nearest table. He chops vegetables with great force. He splashes food into sizzling oils and then returns with the brush to add glaze again.

Cecil has told Earl that each stroke now feels raw on his skin. Adam is meticulous, sometimes removing the carrot to coat it before sliding it back at a new angle. He cups the bag and teases it. Earl has a glassy look on his face, more lost inside the fantasy as moments pass. There are soft mewls escaping his gagged lips, nostrils flaring as he stares ahead.

Carlos waves a hand in his face to make sure he's coherent, tapping his nose. Earl blinks at that, and then winks one eye, flushing. He stares up with fear. Perhaps at his peril. Perhaps at how he realizes he must look.

Carlos leans down. "You look delicious. And we _love_ you."

Earl winks again and when Carlos nods at Adam, the brunet begins to outline options.

He prefers a pole that will carry the roast. Stuff the ass and then seal it with a hook plug. The metal can be heated as Earl cooks, searing the inside of the ass and lightly warming the stuffing. Earl's belly will be bloated as his organs shift to allow the filling. That will cook slower, ensuring a decent bake time and even tenderness. The cock, when ready, can be let out. A ring or sounding rod will allow the organ to finish faster. A sounding rod prevents that sizzling leakage that clients prefer, though. Adam can apply a small torch to the nipples at any point. Earl blushes and moans as he listens, his heart racing as hands run over his moist body.

"He's going to taste amazing..."

"Gingers tend to have a sweet flavor to their flesh. It's why so many spices need to be used to counter the sweetness for a proper tasting protein."

His thighs are forced wide and he feels himself start to be filled with the vegetables Adam had made. Uncooked chunks of potatoes, carrots, turnips (really anal beads that the Voice has redefined for the ginger). He squirms when Cecil identifies onions and radishes that burn his anus. He feels full, and he is made to believe he is fuller, a Whisper describing how his belly begins to press into the table. How his insides protest and each new addition gets harder to force in.

"Didn't know you were this fat," Carlos hisses.

"You can remove the apple and season him yourself," Adam chuckles. “Unless you think your partner doesn't want _that_ in his food..."

Cecil coos. "My lover in my food? I'm okay with that. Your seed always tasted better than this worthless whore’s."

Carlos blushes, removing Earl's apple. He taps his nose again and waits for a wink before he feeds him his cock, gasping at how willing Earl is to pleasure him.

"They always give good at the end. Last bit of desperation," Adam winks.

"Oh god...he's such a desperate whore," he whines, thrusting gently into Earl's mouth.

"I am going to bite into your flesh, you little slut. You will decorate those plates you were useless in washing."

Earl hums in beautiful horror as a hot tear slips over his nose.

Adam loudly prepares the apparatus for holding him up.

"Maybe we'll keep your head...to remember you by, hm? Set up so that it's perfectly preserved for a good fucking every now and then."

Adam clicks the machine together as Cecil teases the anal beads. "Are slut bones good to give to dogs?"

"Dogs, latex dogs especially, love the marrow from bad whores."

Carlos feels Earl gasp, deeply spitted on the scientist's cock as he reacts to the promises.

"When you are done playing with him, I will affix him to the mount."

Carlos nods, biting his lip as he cums, and forcing Earl to swallow it with a nose pinch. "Just imagine...you'll make the other slaves so happy!  Reminding them of their place, hm? Behave or you become nothing but grease stains.”

Cecil is already planning to tie this story with the Earl puppy one, forcing the pet to eat and ‘enjoy’ on pain of similar fate -- the bones of a young, helpless slave.

For now, Earl coughs and barely has time to breathe before Cecil is ruthlessly abusing his mouth. "Nggg, I'm going to, slip my knife into your stretched, cooked asshole. Ply it wider and watch it steam. I imagine our...oh...our butcher will saw off your legs while you still live. You will be easier to turn on the spit."

Carlos watches as Earl moans, enduring the face fucking as he gurgles and slurps loudly, struggling to use his tongue and lips on Cecil.

"I can cauterize the carvings, much like I plan to pierce these tender nipples with a fork and pull them while torching them. He might scream weakly still. If it is louder than the blaze, that’s how we tell that he will last another hour. It is a trick I mastered after years of bad pets."

"Oooh, and so when he finally cums it can be over our plates full of meat?"

"Last cum often happens by third helping. I like that because you know how he tastes already but his long held seed just...well, there is no descriptions for it."

Cecil is close to oozing his own climax. "Do...do you know how it ends? Tell me how...how it..."

"A long blade right into where his pubic hair has burned off. Then a slow cut up to his sternum. A tray catches all of his innards. The stuffing and his organs. He will cum hard. They do every time. Even when sounded. And if you keep your plates under, it is the best part. After that, he weeps to stillness and you can carve that swollen and tasty cock free. They sometimes shudder. I think even then they don't believe they are only meat."

Cecil snaps his hips forward and seizes Earl by the skull. "Oh....oh Gods..."

The very image that enters Earl's fertile brain is enough to make him thrust his hips forward, needing very badly to cum now. His hips quiver, body aching as he chokes, perhaps a word, around Cecil’s cock.

Carlos sees the intense need and he gently snags the tip of the leather sack, allowing him to cum without the minor rod impeding them. They free him, massaging his limbs as he continues to tremble, sticky and sensitive. Cecil carefully extracts the beads and Adam checks the waiting bath.

Earl kisses Carlos' hand with swollen and abused lips, offering him a small smile. "Thank you."

Carlos fondly scratches at the base of Earl's skull. "You are delightful, Early. We have a roast prepared if you are up for eating."

"Feed you while you are tied up in bed?" Cecil asks.

Earl smiles, nuzzling a thigh. "Olive. That sounds nice," he hums.

-

They lay him down. Adam checks how his circulation is doing after the scene. Then they snugly pin him with softer ropes so he is mostly immobile. Nothing tight. He imagines himself weak from hunger, a slave kept in Carlos' rooms and resiliently refusing to eat the questionable meat they bring. That changes today.

Carlos runs a hand over Earl's throat, humming as he rubs a firm thumb over Earl’s Adam's apple. "You must be _so_ hungry, pet. Don't you want to eat something?"

Earl swallows, peering up at the first of his captors. He is aware that the meat is probably someone he knew. He is also so hollow. Dizzy.

"You cannot starve yourself forever," Carlos warns. "Come, I think it's time you tried to eat." Cecil holds a fork up and Adam prods at Earl's jaw. "Just a taste, pretty one," coaxes Carlos. "The juices will make you hungry. You need to keep your strength up." Earl turns his face away, shaking his head before Carlos gently forces him to turn back to the fork. "Don't make the food go to waste."

Adam slowly drives his thumb into a point on Earl's cheek, unhinging it. The fork goes in and then Carlos covers the mouth. "Chew..." he orders. The roast is perfectly moist and seasoned. Earl is worn from sex and his mouth waters. He whimpers as he complies. Carlos rubs his throat with his hand, helping him to swallow it. "See? Not so bad was it?" he asked.

"Mmmmnnnn," Earl moans, possibly with rejection, or agreement.

Cecil takes it as agreement, stabbing another soft mound of meat to present. Earl mewls as the meat is pressed to his lips, slowly parting them to accept it this time, unable to stop himself.

"Well, at least he is partaking of the useless dishwasher in some way," Adam comments.

Earl blushes as they watch him eat, curling close to his cocooned form and urging him to finish. They kiss him with the taste still on his tongue. They let him rest because he has dishes tomorrow…

"My lovely pet," Cecil hums, running his fingers through Earl's hair.

"And far more obedient and clever," Carlos adds.

Earl eats until he is almost asleep. They shift around him, tones losing their superiority. By the end, he is just nuzzling into stroking hands, smiling as he lazily kisses them back.

Cecil plans next week's session. Perhaps they force the bones on Adam's dog, along with other training.

"You always get excited when scenes have sequels," Earl gently teases.

“Am I the only one?” Cecil coyly asks.


	18. A Very Special Episode

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A return to your favourite tv show in a dystopian future.

Carlos runs a towel through Earl’s hair again, watching the strands poof up. “Not too cold?”

Earl shakes his head. “No.”

Adam holds up the ball gag. “You’re versed in what to expect?”

Earl cracks his jaw slightly before giving the pair an amused glance. “Did you think Cecil could keep olive his plans a secret?”

“Say your safeword one more time,” Carlos murmurs.

“Olive,” Earl replies, open wide. “Olive to all of it.”

Adam pops the rubber back in and Carlos steps back to further admire the goosebumps on the ginger’s freckled flesh. Adam buckles the gag in securely before stepping down to slip a leather cage over Earl’s naked erection.

He nods at Carlos.

Earl winks, too.

Carlos knocks on the door to his laboratory, letting Cecil know they are ready to begin.

“And in three,” Adam hisses, harsher with each new word. “two...one.”

Carlos flings the door open.

Earl flinches. Cecil’s words start to pour in.

“Ladies and gentlemen, again for you tonight…”

“The crowds just keep getting bigger and bigger,” Carlos whispers.

“Don’t let us down, slut,” Adam sneers, snapping a small leash to the cock cage.

Earl shrinks back, but he has nowhere to go. His ankles are still bound to one another. His arms are strapped behind him. He glistens from the previous session. Washing up the slave for the show.

When Cecil calls out the scientist and the expert handler’s names, they march out into spotlights. The Voice and some props create the effect of a stage. Of an audience. And behind them, Earl is helplessly produced.

“Wow,” Cecil beams at the cowering, shamed star. “You look completely transformed after last night’s mishap.” To the camera, the fluorescently robed announcer winks. “As you all know, our little celebrity sleeps after the show in a cage where you can watch him online. By making contributions to our programme, electric stimulation is applied to keep our pet entertaining. It seems, though, that there’s some collaboration with donors. We suspect that you’ve been organizing on forums to time your payments for the most results. We love what you’ve done with the system, but please know that if our boy gets tired, he’s less fun for the main event.”

The scolding is fondly given. Earl shudders, his character recalling the tortuous night and how, even sounded, he had climaxed painfully and messily under the blinking eye of a webcam. Twelve hours ago, his character has hardly recovered.

“It makes our two experts work harder,” Cecil continues. “But we trust them to offer up results. Especially since we could hardly cancel _this_ episode!”

Cecil flourishes at a covered item in the corner.

Earl peers at it, aware of the newest addition to the playroom. He’s yet to lay eyes upon it, and that helps him act in character as Carlos wanders over to pull the sheet free. It is a pommel horse.

There is a pause, and in it Earl can _hear_ a collective gasp from the wall. From hundreds in imaginary stands. From people at home.

“The National Gymnastics Association and our very unique show has teamed up!” Cecil cheers when the murmurs and awe dies down. He only speaks over Earl’s whimpering. “Next week, on this very channel, you can watch our country’s best vie for larger competitions, and they’ll be doing it on this very official horse. But before that, we’re going to christen it with our most flexible fave, and our genius inventor has a few things to add to the device for the occasion.”

As he speaks, Carlos pulls a box out and reveals a dildo. He attaches it to the top of the leather horse with a vice. He then adds hooks to the bottom of the horse. They appear to be designed for securing legs.

Earl draws back, but Adam tugs on the leash and the slave’s only recourse is to shake his head as he trembles.

“We hope that our viewers will remember today’s games when they tune in to next week’s event. It is an honour to help celebrate our athletes. Now, Adam, I know he won’t go willingly…”

Adam shrugs at the camera. “I’d be disappointed if he complied, honestly.”

Carlos pushes on the post to prove it is fixed before lathering it in lubricant. As the trio observe, Cecil leans in to Earl.

“You’re okay?”

A wink.

Then the Voice comes out, reminding Earl that he is safe. That he is himself and will always recall his safewords. That by blinking his left eye often, they will know he needs them to stop. Then after that, he builds for Earl a recent history of being a continued subject of this show. Of facing larger and larger audiences, and raking in more and more cash when he’s trapped in his cage. They had never expected to keep him for more than one week, but the resounding success of his popularity had changed the show’s plans of abusing the dystopian entertainment law to drag in other subjects. Now, they only use the one.

Adam gives the leash a pull and Earl wails around his ball gag as he staggers to keep up, wishing nothing more than to move as far away as he can from the contraption. They will have to untie his ankles or he will not be able to sit. He knows he _will_ resist.

“I think that you give too much credit to the online sponsors,” Adam announces. “He’s still able to stand and he promises to be feisty.”

They halt before the pommel horse with its glistening cock. Carlos reaches over to give Adam a small vibrator. It’s very similar to the ones they latch onto Earl after hours.

“I think you know where this is going,” Adam chuckles. He catches a second one from Carlos. “I will put this in your cock cage as insurance, skank. And if you’re good, we leave one out of your ass.”

“They’re on the same intensity as they were last night,” Carlos says, conversationally.

Earl bows his head with a sob as Adam gives the cage and its new tool a fond pat. Then, he tugs the knots free that constrain Earl’s ankles.

The unwilling slave immediately starts to step away but before he can consider the range of the remote Carlos holds, his core jolts with a violent vibration. He cries out and stumbles.

Adam catches him, wrapping an arm tightly around a bicep. “I hope that was an accident,” he growls.

Earl frantically nods.

Adam hooks fingers into the strap of the ball gag, digging them against Earl’s jaw and tugging him forward. “Damn straight, you little cock. You’re going to hold very still as Carlos and I lift you by your legs, or I will bring the car battery out next. I’ve gotten letters from your fans and that’s something they’ll allow on the show. It’s requested enough.”

Earl shakes his head viciously, eyes tearing.

Carlos circles to one side. “We’ll get his legs fixed on the horse and lowering him onto the mount will be easier.”

Adam nods his head and Earl mewls, bracing himself. He is forced to lift up his leg to straddle the device without sitting just yet. His ankles are secured to the hooks on the sides and he waits fearfully as Carlos makes a point of adding more lubricant onto the dildo. His fingers are soon coated and he uses these to prepare Earl for the seat, penetrating him slowly before curling his fingers.

Once Earl nods his head, Carlos removes his fingers and Adam places his hands firmly on Earl’s shoulders, pulling him down hard onto the slick mass. Earl wails around his gag as he is penetrated without mercy. He pants heavily, nostrils flaring as he bows his head and struggles to control himself. Adam’s hands remain on his shoulders for support and he mewls when he finally adjusts to it, lifting up his head to regard the pair with fearful eyes.

He finds cameras. The imagined recorders are zooming in on his face. His quivering chest. His ass for close-ups. Carlos explains how the subject’s urge to tense up creates even more pain. Adam circles, professionally checking the bonds and explaining, when Carlos is done, how the red-headed slut can lift himself off with some strength, but he cannot escape the dildo fully. He will eventually tire and fuck himself back down.

Cecil watches Earl carefully, waiting for the proper blinks. Once he has them, he takes up the microphone again, smiling brightly as he bounces in front of the camera. “Now, valued audience! We have a very special gift to offer you tonight on the show! We know how much you’ve enjoyed our red-headed whore and so tonight we are selling...whore dolls!”

Earl can’t help but snort when the little leather clad figure is held up. So _that_  is what Cecil had been working on instead of his usual wooden sculptures of kittens reading books. Honestly.

“...and to add some further incentive for the purchasing of these rare limited run dolls; each of the one hundred that were made will be specially coated in the real whore’s semen! Live on television!” Cecil sells.

This is enough to catch Earl’s attention, dragging the character away from his pain. His eyes widen as he bites down on his gag, mewling at the very idea of such a degrading thing being shown live on the air. Carlos gently works on undoing the star’s cock restraints and then tuts when the red-head immediately cums over his gloved hand and onto the pommel horse leather.

“You wretched slut!” Carlos chastises, clipping Earl on the ear with his filthy hand, “now you’ve wasted what would have coated at least ten dolls! Such a disappointment!”

“We can’t have that happen!” Cecil chirps, “I’m afraid that the dolls have already sold -- not even in a full minute! -- and I doubt that their new owners will be happy to find out that this one cannot keep our promise that he will properly cum on each one. But I’m sure that _you_ two will be able to make sure he keeps that promise, hm?”

Adam picks up a few dolls, taking Carlos’ hand and gently applying it to some of the toys’ heads. Fake red hair shines in the expelled sin. “Waste not, want not,” he murmurs. “I think we can get a few dolls working. But now would be a good time to remind the audience of our season ender while our esteemed scientist prepares some more of his toys, no?”

Cecil alights. “Yes, as our viewers may know from our website and profile on this disobedient cretin, he had only been planned for one episode. Breaking the entertainment laws dictated as such, but in our trying time, we found that his performance inspired most of you at home to unexpected degrees. Letters. Suggestions. Donations. We kept our pretty puppet, but alas, all good things must end.”

As he speaks, Earl’s face blooms in crimson. He shivers on his mount, thighs aching to relax which will slide him even deeper down. He’s afraid of being so full and so he strains to hold himself up, trying to ignore the enthusiastic words of their announcer. As he tries to pretend he cannot hear the toys being rummaged with from the scientist. As his handler handles a doll that looks like him, and will end up in the homes of a hundred twisted strangers.

Cecil continues. “We’ve taken the best of the letters and plan to use them for the final show of the season. I know we’ll have ratings, as it will be the last time you see this wanton whore.”

Earl moans, unsure of what Cecil’s ominous tone implies. Will he be freed after whatever indignities befall him? He hopes so, but doesn’t expect it. Will he be fucked and abandoned in a dark room somewhere, left exhausted to perish? Will a sponsor take him home for a private cage?

“I’m not sure why you even need us,” Adam laughs to his host, drawing Cecil and the cameras to watch the stiffening member of the mounted ginger’s cock.

“Oh, so we know he’s as excited as we are,” Cecil giggles. He carries the microphone close to the pommel horse. “We did a poll, you should know. When you had your first episode and the gag was removed briefly. You proclaimed your innocence, despite the law being necessary for our survival and entertainment...and you know, almost all of our viewers didn’t care, slut. They found your participation far more appealing when it was unwilling. For those viewers, the three of us, some of our top sponsors, and the production crew got together to plan the season finale.”

Earl huffs against his gag, staring down in horror at the shining eyes of the show’s host. Adam readies a few more dolls.

Cecil whispers, “cum on the dolls. It’ll be a tangible thing that your fans can remember you by.”

“The only thing,” Adam coos.

And Earl does cum, keening vulnerably.

“Mmmm, another six!” Cecil counts as he helps Adam with the dolls and the seed. “That brings us to nine?”

“I’m almost ready,” Carlos calls from behind the horse. “I was inspired by some of the emails the show gets, and I think I found a way to create an intelligent dildo. Oh, my apologies on not mentioning it sooner. When I turn it on, it starts to increase its vibrations unless pressure is exerted on it. That’s up to the rider.”

Earl, already sinking a further down in his weariness, tries to stop himself. Adam puts a sticky hand onto a freckled thigh, impeding the meek muster of strength.

“You make the audience hunger for your whines and whimpers,” Cecil hums, using his storytelling as he plays with a soiled doll. He makes it touch Earl’s limp, sensitive member. The skin is fondled by tiny plastic hands as the television star goes on. “Your body on Youtube will be around far longer than you will be. Carlos is going to showcase his toys for the next two climaxes. You’ll be helpless to resist. With perhaps twenty dolls decorated with your overwrought orgasms, Adam will take over. He likes chains. Whips. Finding your pressure points and showing them off for the camera. You’ll be mindlessly exhausted, but he’ll make you twitch and squeal, milking at least one more vicious climax before you’ll spend the rest of your time in the cage. Our online fans will get the rest of the dolls produced. After all, they are the ones who have purchased those souvenirs. They’ll excitedly entertain themselves on you electronically while they wait to see what the end brings. Will we use their ideas? Will it be a surprise?”

Earl shakes, feeling the vibrator begin. Perhaps it is an invention of Carlos’. Perhaps the Voice leads him to perceive it. He slips and the dildo penetrates deeper as his balls are lifted by his likeness.

He cums soon after, less strongly. He doesn’t remember blinking his left eye but when he regains his focus, he is lying on his side on the mattress with Carlos petting his hair and telling him how lovely he is.

Cecil gently applies cream to Earl’s sore ass and Adam tidies up the equipment. He’ll help Cecil cook and then be the last to join them in bed to feed and hold down the dazed sub.

“Far better evening than watching tv, like planned?” Earl mumbles with gag-swollen lips.

“Far better,” the doms agree.

\--

Earl is fast asleep when the trio watch the video they’ve made. No longer concerned with their sub’s safety, they can enjoy it properly now.

“We need to plan the season finale,” Carlos chuckles, letting Cecil lazily fondle him.

“When he’s up for it, we’ll put Earl in the cage and then let that inspire us for some ideas,” Adam offers. He has Earl dozing in his lap, oblivious to the hard-on that inspires.

“I might take something from his notebook or computer,” Cecil muses. “We can modify a kidnap scenario. I think our dreaming celebrity wouldn’t expect that.”

“The intense one,” Adam murmurs. “With the bad end?”

“I think we’ll call it....Radio Killed the Video Star,” Cecil teases.

Carlos shudders as he cums, groaning as it looks like he’s reacted to the joke. He rolls over to tug at pajama bottoms in order to repay the favour. Adam slowly lets his own need steep, feeling the warm body of his friend snore against him.

 


	19. Sixty-Fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carlos isn't really feeling their planned plans. But numbers turn him on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies again on the delay. No disclaimers.

“See ya Tuesday, if Tuesday happens,” calls a voice from across the lab. Carlos grunts, looking through his microscope.

He _is_ looking, but he sees nothing. By all appearances, he is focused on science. His mind, though, is elsewhere. It is elsewhen.

The click of a door seals him into the laboratory. He is alone.

For now, he thinks. He is alone _now_. The weekend is a long one and the weather is lovely, upbeat and engaging. It is no wonder the rest of his team had ducked out early. He could, too. He is accomplishing little by way of discoveries. At home, Earl is planning supper. Adam is setting up for their games and Cecil is likely preparing his Voice.

Carlos swallows.

The Voice.

One.

Or Voices? Two.

He’s not sure. He wishes he could be sure, so he can explain to his partners that something is wrong. He doesn’t know if something is wrong. There is a word for some of his thoughts. “Intrusive thoughts,” which he’s studied in Night Valeans. He has them sometimes and that could mean he’s becoming less and less like an interloper. That is good, right?

Or it could mean something else entirely. He’s noticed no discernible change in his emotions from after his latest re-education session. It’s been almost a whole year since he’s last been angry over Cecil being dominant, or confused by Adam being present, or overjoyed at Earl’s apparent helplessness.

He’s over analyzing it, he decides. He’s upset because he doesn’t have words and he’s finding excuses to cancel their plans. They’ve waited weeks for the opportunity. For Adam to be in town and Earl to have time off for recovery. For all of them to be together, with defined roles and a story to look forward to enacting. Carlos is guilty because he doesn’t want to do it now.

Just that.

He does not want to play his part. Not now. Maybe later but…

He wishes Kevin _would_ speak up. It would let him shut down and scream safewords and cancel everything. Or, perhaps worse, it would soothe him. Remind him that this is all part of some plan and his reluctant participations could be one more reason to justify Kevin when everything rights itself...

“What’s wrong with me?” Carlos asks aloud.

He is a Scientist. Since when is the truth more difficult than alternatives?

\--

Adam pulls up in Earl’s car at the appointed time to drive Carlos home.

“How was science?” he conversationally asks.

Carlos buckles in. “Scientific,” he acknowledges. Now, he will open his mouth and explain that he has doubts about tonight.

Now.

...now.

Adam shifts gears and checks over his shoulder as he eases them onto the road. “I know Ceec won’t want to hear it, but his brother-in-law’s sky-lines got me another twenty on the lizard races. I just need to convince Steve into helping me make more ambitious bids.”

“Then you can quit your job?” Carlos asks.

“No, trucking’s for life,” Adam dismisses. “I can’t get out. Contract and all. But I’d be rich. And winning is fun.”

Carlos hums. There is nowhere to slip in his concerns.

“Could use ridiculous amounts of money as props during the scenarios,” Adam wistfully says. “Cecil has a thing for imagining Marcus’ vast wealth and its uses.”

There. An opening.

Carlos stares out of the window. As they cross Main, there are black clouds of oily smoke rising from just behind the houses. A tree falls. Helicopters glint in the sun. Carlos really should say something now or it will get harder.

“Odd things over there,” he murmurs.

Adam shrugs. “Won’t affect us, I don’t think.”

Carlos will. He knows he will. If he speaks up about his lack of interest in tonight’s session, that will affect their weekend plans. And if he doesn’t, and his disinterest becomes noticed…

They don’t deserve that. They deserve honesty. And he deserves to be able to be honest.

He stares at his hands.

Adam signals and Carlos looks up as the vehicle drifts into the shade of a wall on a street far too early to be home.

“What’s this?” Carlos asks.

“You could tell me,” Adam drawls. “Something’s bothering you and I’d like to know if it is something I can help you with, or if you want time to sort it out before we get to our destination. If you would rather walk, or chase something threatening our town, or…” he ends with a shrug.

Carlos mimics the shrug, using only one shoulder. “I don’t know. It’s...it is me.”

Adam patiently waits.

Sighing, the scientist pulls hands through his hair. They are clammy. “I don’t…”

“Does it happen to pertain to our weekend plans?” Adam asks. He could very well be playing a ‘is it larger than a nameless horror?’ game with any of his former Scouts. He sounds interested, but not too interested.  

Carlos frowns, and then nods.

“Urges?” Adam suggests, careful to keep from sounding judgemental.

“No,” Carlos replies. “No urges.”

"Then what is it?" Adam asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Apathy? Lack of investment? I...would like to..." Carlos hesitates. “Not...be the bad guy?”

"Oh..? Submissive or just vanilla? Or nothing at all?"

"I know Earl gets off best as a sub,” Carlos reasons, finally coming to the crux of the problem now that he can discuss it. “Vanilla’s not something he would prefer, and all the work put into this weekend…”

Before he can start feeling bad -- the inevitable crush of explaining that his needs would counter the needs of his friends’ and he doesn’t deserve to be so selfish -- Adam pulls the keys out of the ignition. Earl keeps very little upon his keyring. The house key. A work key. One for the car. An unidentifiable key that he admits does not fit anywhere he’s seen, it’s just shown up one day. And finally, a small compartment that is both knife, compass, and container for matches. Adam holds it out for Carlos and the compass needle whirls. Around and around. It is dizzying.

So too, do Carlos’ thoughts.

“Breathe,” Adam commands.

The scientist takes the item, letting himself obey and grow distracted. It makes no sense at all that the compass would be affected by his emotional spectrum. But finally, when it settles, he’s settled. It points at him. A big red S. And Carlos finds a solution to his problem. “I would like to be submissive...with Earl."

Adam raises a brow. “It is completely alright if you are not comfortable participating. Don’t feel like you have to.”

Carlos nods, slightly.

“And if you want us to continue without you, we can. If you would like us to not continue without you, we won’t. It is not a problem.”

Carlos peers up. “I understand.”

Adam frowns. “Don’t do anything you don’t want to, Carlos,” he warns. “Even if it’s for the rest of us…”

Sighing, the scientist hands the keys back. “It could be many combinations of things. But I’ve helped dom a lot lately. I’m not personally excited about our current plans and I don’t know why. I feel like I am half of myself today. I do want to participate but at the same time, I don’t? I think I’ll feel better if I can...I don’t know, be with Earl. He says he’s grounded by orders and bondage. And I get that. I haven’t had that in...a long time.”

Adam shifts in his seat, a thumb sliding along the teeth of the car key. “I worry,” he admits. “Because I prefer to dom, but I wouldn’t want to be dealing any punishment on you if you’re seeking that. You don’t need redemption, we’ve been over this.”

Carlos cocks his head. “I don’t think I am looking for punishment. It’s strange. I can fulfill both roles. I’m okay with your methods.”

Considering, Adam slips the key back into the ignition. There is a deliberateness to the act. He doesn’t twist the mechanism just yet. “We _will_ discuss it when we get home. We’ll have to change plans and prepare for a shift in roles, but please know that I think it will be alright. I don’t mind. I expect you to employ your safewords if needed.”

“I trust you,” Carlos nods. “Trust me, too.”

“That’s what I was hoping to hear,” Adam grins. He restarts the car.

\--

“So it’s all about just...grounding yourself? Changing perspective?” Cecil quietly asks, sliding a finger between Carlos and the leather straps he wears to ensure that nothing is too tight.

Carlos nods. “Just that. I’ve felt a little distracted lately. Hard to pin down why. But I want us to have this weekend and I’d like to experiment with my place.”

It must be the right thing to say. Cecil’s eyes alight. “You’re so smart, my inquisitive one. Ready?”

Carlos ascents.

Earl joins them then, done with using the facilities. He is naked and clean. Adam motions to where he has similar leather gear laid out. The ginger winks at Carlos, who blushes. He had been worried that Earl, most of all, would have been bothered by the change in plans. The original session involved one of his more intense scenarios.

As soon as Adam had spoken up at the dinner table about having a shared talk, Earl had been incredibly accomodating. He had told Carlos that he is proud they are discussing things. Glad that Carlos would feel free to bring it up.

Now Cecil Speaks, reminding them of the importance of safewords and asking them to demonstrate each one and its function. He then moves on to the body harness each wears, spinning a history for each of them as he touches upon every strap of leather. He kisses the skin and wakes the nerves. Carlos gasps, his earlier doubt and uncertainty vanishing as blood starts to engorge his cock.

He is a scientist, marveling again at what it means to be submissive. He is also a plaything in another world. One bought recently from his kind, older master. The man is unable to keep his slaves and has sold off his favourite to these two strangers. They’ve stated that they have their concerns with the usefulness of a toy that they suspect has grown lazy, but Carlos is proud of his abilities. And if they do not like him, they will return him.

This will change when he meets Earl.

Adam buckles the ginger in, rough about it as he outlines a different origin. The redhead has had strict masters and they’ve shared him with clients who are no longer entertained by the defiant figure that refuses to accept his fate. There have been numerous escape attempts. Cecil and Adam have been frustrated by their inability to punish him as much as they would like, still depending on him to look appealing to customers. But now, less customers call. Their acquisition of Carlos may change that, and if the dark-skinned toy does well, Adam will make good on his threats to dispose of Earl.

Adam’s ensured that nothing pinches Earl and his circulation remains. Carlos is blindfolded with gauze. His thighs and calves are bound by black leather with silver studs. Cool metal connects the straps across his chest, his nipples showcased inside the shining rings. He is not gagged as he is led into a room by his collar. His cock is touched and the threats about his first impressions being vital have sunk in. He is hard, but he will not cum until his masters allow it. It is something he can do.

Earl, in comparison, has a hood on. Eye holes allow him to see, but a black ball gag seals in his growls. He wears a sounding ring. It shines like his nipples, decorated with small clamps.

Both subs have their arms behind them -- Carlos with wrists bound in soft rope. Earl’s arms are twisted behind his back, attached to a posture collar.

“Useless slut,” Adam drones. “Meet potential slut. We’ve got clients in half an hour and fetching this one took longer than planned with the holiday traffic. Cecil is going to warm you both up and I’ll find out what our guests are in the mood for, hmmm?”

Cecil strokes Carlos’ arm. “My companion has doubts about your former owner’s promises, but I’m hopeful. As for you,” he jabs a finger into one of Earl’s nipple clamps, causing him to flinch and glare defiantly. “You’re on borrowed time. I won’t be surprised if none of the regulars want to see you. Now, get on the bed.”

Carlos steps forward, lifting a knee onto the soft surface of the mattress.

Earl refuses to move, and Cecil snags him by the back of the neck where his ball gag is secured. A finger taps at Earl’s skull. The ginger winks approval before Cecil roughly drags him down. Earl doubles over, writhing in vain as his ass is slapped.

“You are always like this,” hisses the master as he grinds into the struggling body. “Sure wish your defiance paid the bills.”

Rope that is sitting on the pillow is snatched up and Cecil uncoils the strands to connect them through the loops on Earl’s arm binders. The Scoutmaster allows himself to be secured first by the arms, then by the back of his collar, and finally, his flailing legs. He is hogtied, testing the bonds and growling against the intrusion stuffed into his lips.

“You always make it so hard,” Cecil huffs. He turns to Carlos. “Lie on your stomach.”

Carlos peers at Earl, heavily breathing around his glistening gag. He then dutifully obeys. He senses disdain from the other slave. Cecil, though, strokes his hair before carefully applying the same pose.

“See, that’s just sensible,” hums the master. “Now, our clients want you to be good and hard when they come in. We’ve never had two playthings before, so let’s see if we can’t make the most of it.” He turns to Earl. “Skank, I’ll remove your gag and your sounding rod if you promise not to bite.”

Carlos pretends to be concerned at the possibility, but Earl turns his mock hatred from Cecil and it softens immediately when he regards his fellow slave. Carlos, his blindfold askew, winks one eye.

Earl copies.

\--

Cecil binds them together. Carlos’ head hooks to the front of Earl’s thighs, forcing him to take the length in. Earl’s ball gag is removed and he is also strapped to the scientist. Cecil roughly shoves Earl forward, gagging him with some pleasure upon the thick girth of their newest acquisition.

The smell of sex and sweat floods Carlos’ senses. He adjusts to the meat in his mouth by running a tongue experimentally around it. Earl twitches and his thighs clench. He moans in the perfect, wet heat and tries to breathe around Carlos’ own erection.

Cecil circles them, his hand lazily shifting his clothes to add friction to his arousal. “You two look lovely. Remember not to cum, as that’s reserved for the clients.”

He then pulls a bottle of lube and kneels behind Earl. Fucking him with his fingers is hardly fair, but then again, Cecil’s already got a favourite.

\--

Carlos coughs around the cum in his mouth. Cecil scrambles to untie him, the bonds already loose. Even exhausted, Earl freezes his jaw to halt his teasing of Carlos’ own ready cock.

“You waste of flesh,” hisses Cecil, just as Adam walks in. The master says to Carlos, “You don’t need to swallow that. Here, cough. Breathe.”

“Did our red bastard fuck up?” Adam asks. A leather strap slams against a chair. “Our clients are ready to go in the next room.”

“Our red bastard fucked up,” Cecil confirms, stroking Carlos’ cheek once Earl’s cock is removed from swollen lips. “He’ll be good for no one.”

Adam pauses at the bed. “Our clients don’t want red. How’s the new one?”

Carlos nods, still unable to catch traces of Earl’s seed from his lips. He utters the safeword indicating that he needs a moment. He very nearly had the spill go up his nose.

Fortunately, he’s won over one master, who pets him while Earl goes ignored. Adam lets his strap drop over a freckled thigh and he slides it up and down the limb. Earl moans into Carlos’ girth, still trapped.

Water is given to Carlos. He is unstrapped from his position, his cock shining and erect. Cecil massages him carefully. Legs and arms free, he is helped to the edge of the bed.

“You never learn,” Adam hisses to Earl, still hogtied. After he confirms his safeword, Adam presses on his jaw to make it compliant. The ball gag is replaced. “I’m going to have to entertain you since you haven’t the talent to entertain our customers anymore.”

Earl whines, or swears. Carlos, feeling pity, drops to his hands and knees. He peers back, hoping to be alluring. Hoping to distract from the angry attention doled on his fellow slave.

It works. Two sets of eyes follow Carlos as he sensually crawls to where his clients await. One mismatched pair watches, gratefully.

“Promising,” Adam admits. “Maybe our rent gets paid after all.”

“We won’t need to sell off red so soon,” Cecil ominously states. He jumps to his feet to introduce Carlos to the denizens in the other room. It will just be him and the Voice.

“I’ll be here if you need me,” Adam bids, unsheathing his own cock as he towers over the bound ginger.

\--

Earl has bruises when Carlos is taken to the room they will stay in. It is the same room as before, yet the Voice has transformed it. The walls close in. The decor is bleak. Gone is the luxury of a bed, replaced by a mattress. Earl is strapped to it, spread-eagle. His hood is on, eyes teary and mouth full with a double-ended dildo gag. The phallic rubber juts out and Adam comments to an unbound Carlos that he can make use if he wants.

He’s earned it, after all.

Earl’s cock is limp and his belly is stained with drying cum. His legs shine from lubrication.

Carlos hurries over to the bed, as much as his own sore knees will let him. Earl looks wretched, but as soon as he catches Carlos’ eye, he winks. He winks again when Carlos remains concerned.

“Are we good?” Adam asks, his voice gentler.

Carlos turns, and then nods. He breathes in. He exhales. One wink means Earl is fine.

Adam scrutinizes Carlos before he also bobs his head. “We’ll give you an hour, but door’s not locked. Someone will peek in…”

“Thanks,” Carlos murmurs, before he sets himself next to Earl, fingers tracing the lash marks. The door closes and he assesses himself. Earl can get free from these knots if he needs to. He enjoys bondage after a session.

Carlos’ time with Cecil had been gentle. Fun. He had cum quickly, and lied with the other hearing stories of how he had performed, watching his orator stroke himself slowly at first. Then faster. Still, they had both known that in the next room, Adam and Earl had been doing something very different.

“You know, if you’re compliant, it’s not so bad,” Carlos offers. He wonders if he had said such things under the influence of Kevin.

For a moment, he expects panic to set in. A return of familiar anxiety, dropping its bags and announcing it is back from an extended leave. It had always intended to return. Like Kevin, who…

Earl peers at him.

Carlos peers back. The fear is not there.

Just a defiant Earl Harlan, who has not changed even a little. Still pretty when posed with ropes. Still capable and consenting. Happy to be helpless, but brave when bound or unbound.

“I see,” he murmurs, pressing close. “Then be yourself, and I’ll keep you safe,” he promises, pressing his cheek against Earl’s in a tender display.

***

"Please..." Carlos mewls after swallowing Cecil's semen. It is the following evening and the scientist is active after a full day of rest. He licks lips that are sore once again, nuzzling the other’s thigh to try and gain his favor. "Please let him stay?"

Adam sniffs at the plea, looking over at his partner with a raised eyebrow. "Perhaps he's not as perfect as we thought..."

"He's still good," Cecil insists. "Look how happy our customers were. Look how happy we were. I say we give him a chance to keep his friend. Nobody else will want that slut. If he really means it..." Cecil shrugs then, smiling as he leaves Earl's fate unspoken.

"Anything," Carlos promises.

Earl is hogtied again during this. After biting Cecil, he had been left in an embarrassing pose with a dildo shaking in his ass and a cock cage tightly containing him. Adam switches off the vibrator and changes the cock cage to a metal one that makes the ginger writhe just as much. He catches Carlos’ eye, panting as his ropes are adjusted and tightened.

Cecil and Adam explain the rules to their invented little game.

"You’ll 69 again, but you both must remove the other's cage and make them cum with only your mouth," Cecil says.

"Failure from one is a failure for both," Adam adds with a nod. “And we won’t get much for disposing of you, whore. But I’ll have the satisfaction of seeing you go. So no stress if you can’t win this one, boys.”

They are not strapped to one another, giving them room to work. Earl’s tongue snakes out to snag on the rungs of Carlos’ cage. The scientist is only half hard, yet the humid ghost of Earl’s breath makes him shiver. He himself regards the puzzle of the cage before him. Earl is swollen, his testicles pressing against the base like slightly squeezed balloons. Any contact will be torture.

He reminds himself that Earl loves this, and Cecil’s Voice assures him that he is up for the challenge. The others had been concerned that Carlos’ inability to manipulate the contraption would make him feel helpless and frustrated.

He knows he can do it, though. He’s built sex machines and equipment for his lab. He slides his teeth against the hinge of the cage, looking for the slide of a pin. Earl keens as the sensation teases his caught cock. Carlos, too, feels saliva pooling from Earl’s lips onto his own trapped penis.

Above them, intently watching, Adam says, “Suspension cables. One on top, the other below. They can suck in this pose and you and I can take up the available asses…”

“Change their bed to a cage, big enough for the two when they’re pinned together. I like these plans,” Cecil coos. “They fit like puzzle pieces. But that will be a dream if we give away the bad one.”

“I’m really looking forward to that,” Adam admits, darkly. “He’s been a pain since the start. There’s a farm at the end of the wastes. Nobody goes out there. It’s abandoned. That client who I mentioned, he’s very interested in meeting me there to take this one off our hands.”

Earl sobs, his mouth suckling as he loses focus on easing the latch free. Carlos tries to work around the spasms the threats trigger in Earl. The ginger is dazed at the prospect.

“It’s very archaic. Open air and rusted tools, though we won’t be concerned about infections,” continues the meaner of the doms.

There. Carlos nimbly adjusts so his tongue can apply the right pressure against the mechanism. A moment later, Earl’s mouth follows suit. They gasp, peering up as Carlos pulls a hot, musky member into his lips.

Earl gratefully pecks kisses along Carlos’ length before taking it in, too. 

“Next time,” Cecil consoles his companion. “If either disappoint us, we’ll do this again. I like the idea of filling those asses, though....”

Adam reaches out and drags a palm through red locks. “Next time, then…”

\--

Earl snores, entangled in bedsheets. A Knight’s Tale plays, but the volume has been muted. Carlos notes how his partner smacks his lips in his sleep and he decides that Earl needs hydration.

“Sit down,” Adam murmurs from a chair. Cecil has trapped him there, snoring against Adam’s feet with his laptop in sleep mode. “What do you need?”

“Earl’s thirsty.”

Adam shifts enough to snag Carlos’ shoulder to ease him back to bed. “I’ll grab a water. You should be resting.”

“I want to help.”

Adam snorts. “Subs don’t get to push themselves,” he reminds. “But if you want to help him drink, I’ll allow it.”

“I’m fine,” Carlos mutters.

“Your legs were shaking three hours ago. For once, our ‘favoured’ slave can take a lesson from our ‘misbehaving’ one. He’s got the aftercare down, the lazy ass.”

Earl rolls over, draping arms around Carlos’ hips. The motion flashes a middle finger at the truck driver.

“I suppose I’m staying then,” Carlos hums.

“Someone has to give me water,” Earl replies. “Will you lie so your legs trap mine?”

Carlos nods and does as he is asked.

“I hope there’s room in there for Ceec. He’s well and truly out on the floor,” Adam notes, handing a straw and a water bottle over.

“There’s room for you too,” Carlos notes.

Adam bites his lower lip. “...thanks.”


	20. Suitability

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the pursuit, the cloaked figure purrs that the elf deserves a suit.

**Disclaimer** : Implied non-consensual fantasy. Implied bad-end. Please read with caution.

\--

_A page from Earl’s notebook._

* * *

 

The Elven soldier does not adapt well to being a prisoner. It had taken several fighters to bring him down and even that had been a struggle. A fortunately timed and well-placed net launched at the figure as he had exhaustively broken away from the throng had signaled his defeat, though the chains and weighted ropes still had not convinced him to consign to his fate. He continues to fight and gnash his teeth in anger.

He is on a platform now, strapped down on his back, the leather and metal cords keeping him flat as the wooden cart bumps and jostles its way down the narrow, uneven path. Deeper into the earth, his grunts and threats echo hollowly off of the walls. So, too, do his captor’s laughter.

Those, though, quiet down when the darkness grows complete and their torches flutter in a draft. There is a mossy dampness. The prisoner continues to snarl, using the shadows to conceal his tests of the bonds. He will not remain here. These hated foes will not keep him for long. He is going to break out of his restraints and he will make these men suffer the consequences.

A soft, green glow begins to emanate from the ceiling. At first, the elf thinks his eyes are playing tricks with him. Then he remembers something about bioluminescent flora. He comes from a higher plane, with castles boldly built to the sky. But there have always been whispers of dark, deep places where such things grow…

He stops squirming, the rustle of chains shushing as the realization settles in. No...it’s a fairy tale. A warning invented to give children nightmares.

Someone behind the cart chuckles. “I think he’s finally starting to understand what’s going to happen!”

“Are you sure that it’ll go for him and not one of us?”

“We’ll make sure of it.”

The soldier narrows his eyes as the cart comes to a halt, bracing himself for a fight as the brown-haired man who had thrown the net that felled him comes into view. “You…” the elf spits.

His rival just smiles, drawing a dagger from his belt. “Hold still. You don’t want me to cut you, right?” he taunts, starting to slide the blade between the bonds, tearing into the available fabric of his clothes.

The elf grunts in anger, hands clenched as he is stripped, cloth roughly ripped off of his body. He gasps as the chill air hits his skin, making it break out into goosebumps. His nipples harden. He mewls, shutting his mouth tightly as a warm hand runs over his thighs, teasing him. “Stop…”

“You won’t have to worry for long, pointy ears!” his rival taunts. He waves a pair of wary guards over and they each hold down an arm while someone fiddles with the locks. The elf can be fierce, but there is too much weight pinning him. The restraints are lifted and the man the elf despises most lifts a torch. He wanders around the wall of the space. They are in a cavern. He finds an old bolt fixed into the wall. From it a rusted chain dangles, thicker and heavier than any his forces employ. “Here.”

The elf is lifted. He struggles, jerking and thrashing. He manages one solid kick before his legs are secured. Someone slaps him from behind his ear. He is lighter than them. They use brute strength and the elven soldier’s advantage had always been in speed. Agility. He has none of these now.

He hisses and swears, but does not scream. Something keeps him from raising his voice. It keeps all of them from doing the same. An oppressive humidity that bears down upon them. Manacles are clipped to the elf’s thin wrists and these are looped and secured to the massive chain in the wall. The torch reveals a second fixture, and the elf’s other limb is just as firmly pinned to it. He is left standing in the entrance to a narrow corridor, arms outstretched. His feet allowed to brace upon the ground.

His rival inspects the work, stepping back to avoid the angry heel of his captive. He then turns to the others. “All of you get out of here. Stand outside of the cave’s mouth and wait for me there, understand?”

They obey, happily vacating the heavy darkness, save for one figure the elf had not noticed. This stranger wears a cloak. He does not carry a torch. Only one flame remains, belonging to the hated human and left in a bracket attached to the cart. The shadows devour everything. High above at a deceptive distance gleams a pale green. In the uncertain glow, the remaining two look at one another. The dark haired human bows as he motions for the cloaked figure to step forward.

Chanting begins. Low and rhythmic. The elf’s mouth dries as he recognizes the language. It is only meant for summoning.

He starts to struggle anew in his restraints, fear making his chest tighten and his heart race. No...no, this is not something that should be happening! He breathes in shallowly, panic taking a toll. Childhood nightmares crawling out of his memories. Each tug and struggle makes the heavy chains skip off of the walls.

Then, something drips.

The elf thinks, at first, it is imagined. A trick of the light. The torch flickers, after all. The bioluminescence does not give anything detail or form. But the splotch of it is heard, even above the chanting. The elf has keen ears. He stops breathing. He listens for another.

This time, he feels it.

Black and oily, a substance like sludge drips onto the prisoner’s naked shoulder. He twitches at the sensation, skittish in his vigilance. His head turns but his sharp eyes can only make out the shape of it. His senses note the putrid scent. It clings to his skin, the size of a coin.

Something splatters by his feet. He rears back. A plitter-platter occurs on metal, just above his wrist. Then, another catches upon his head.

He shakes his neck viciously and he feels it move. Slide. It does not splatter with the texture of water. Rather, it oozes onto his neck. The sensation triggers a shiver. The cool air of the cavern leaves his skin pebbled. He feels something tremoring under his skin. He doesn’t know that the contact creates a chemical that his pores absorb, triggering a reaction from his body.

His cock, shamefully exposed, dangles. But blood starts to tingle there, spurred by fear and something else. The elf is grateful for the darkness as he can't help but grow erect. His enemies watch from a distance away, wary of interrupting or attracting what dribbles from the heights.

The elf sucks in a breath when he feels more rain down upon him. Something curls around his ankle suddenly. And as he shifts his weight frantically to avoid it, the substance sticks. He tries to kick and it coils tighter, thin and gooey. He whines as more flick upon his spread arms. As his fine hair catches several. Something plips onto his ass, stretching from hip to cheek. He feels it flatten as if to hold on. Then, it begins to explore.

They all do.

The substance sticks and shifts, confusing the elf’s nerves. He whines breathily as the chanting silences. As the burly soldier fetches his torch and creeps a little nearer. Smooth, black, shiny. The liquid is warm, and also cold, spotting the elf’s sensitive flesh. Thick as it detaches and spreads. Several dot the floor and they are moving. The chains above are black. Tendrils reach out to the trapped figure. The elf’s eyes widen at all that the torch reveals.

He cannot use his arms to protect himself. He gasps and pleads as he watches a growing mass trying to claim his calves and ankles. As black matter claims his wrists, rolling over links to find hands and fingers. When the mass collects, it gains stabler arms. A longer reach. More ambitious intentions. A crawling line of it rounds the elf’s hip and forms a hand, reaching for his cock.

Many start to embrace his thighs. They compete for the privilege, despite looking the same. Merging and splitting, or spreading thin and clinging to hairs and pores with the consistency of a second skin -- more rubbery and slick.

The elf shakes against his chains, hoping for strength to finally free himself in this time of desperate need. He only knocks more loose upon him. He flashes eyes at the ones responsible. Surely they will not allow this. They grin, though. Hands stray to their covered members as the torch is lifted. They stare with lust. The elf will get no mercy. He is well and truly trapped.

He opens his mouth to scream, but then something springs from his ear. A tendril that slaps against his cheek and catches at the corner of his lip. He jerks his head away, eyes trying to follow the new threat. It stretches to keep its place, though. Elastic. It thins, clinging against the elf’s lip. Then, it gains mass as more congregates into it. Forcing its way against a jaw, the elf wails against the thrusting invasion of his mouth. His lower lip is coated. He tries to scrape or snap at it with his teeth.

Then a sharp pain draws his focus from his airway to his most sensitive region. Something strings around his testicles. He tries to rise on his toes though the attack comes from his thighs. He is more than half covered now.

His cock is draped in the invasive black slime. It closes over the flesh. There is heat on his lips. Something flaggering towards his tongue. He cannot close his mouth and a bitter sourness pools around his teeth. Salty. Awful. His tongue tingles as a mass drapes across it. His bellows become muffled by saliva and the invading substance. More scrambles in and he is afraid he will suffocate.

The parts that entrap his testicles start expanding to the bottom of his ass. They are pushing in between his cheeks, finding his anus while other segments begin to cover the entirety of his cock. And not just cover, but toy with. The skin there is shifted. Pulled or pressed. The oily substance tries to mould around the veins, and it curiously tests the tautness of the elf’s foreskin.

There is bartering. The elf’s bare skin becomes territory where newer globs fight against the first of the invaders. There is pressing and prodding. Climbing and trading. Looping around limbs and solidifying pieces when satisfied with their claim. The elf thrusts his hips, desperate for friction. He’s forgotten his observers as he writhes. As he clenches against the battle for his ass. The stronger, firmer pieces of the creature are winning. His muscles try to push them out but cannot succeed.

Less ambitious tendrils settle for his arms. His legs. His head and back. Some find that they enjoy his nipples, able to create reactions as they push the nubs about. Tiny offshoots resembling mouths teethe against his skin in places where it sticks out. His nipples. His earlobes.

The elf cannot scream as his tongue is held down by more of the thing. A heavy addition pours onto his neck and head, sluicing down in a sudden shock. He twitches as his ears are invaded, silencing the room and creating a roar of friction in his hearing. Narrow claws play with his nostrils, smelling sharply of rot and smoke. The last thing he sees in the torchlight is the hungry stare of the brunet, and the sickle curve of lips on the cloaked man. Then his lids close down to protect the surface of his eyes from the growing, gathering creature.

Space is sought in his crevices and more migrate to share in his ass. Cooperation now, instead of rivalry. The elf tries to clench his muscles, pushing out the awful invader. But it pushes back, adjusting. Seeping into deeper and hotter corners. He soundlessly screams as it finds gold. All parts, now connected to every other part, realizes the effect of the prostate on the elf. The creature tenses over the elf’s balls as smaller tendrils begin to suck at a new hole. The elf’s slit is oozing pre and this fascinates the thing.

It probes the tip, slurping at the excrement. Then pushes in as it drains.

As the captive tries to scream, his throat gags with the deeper exploration of his esophagus. The substance discovers the function of air as the elf begins to choke. His nose is freed long enough for a thinner, less invasive invasion of the gullet. The elf feels acid brewing, ready to push upwards from his stomach. Something ejects from the alien layer and the elf is forced to swallow a watery compound that will settle the reaction.

The exposed torso twitches, showing off the elf’s attempt to scream. To breathe. To cry out against what is happening to him. To the two watching him, that chest is a black stretch of skin, layered thin and impossibly tight to the elf’s own. It will absorb the sweat and sense the changes within the elf. If needed, it will uphold the elf and sustain him. A living suit, it will begin to further its explorations as the initial shock lessens. It will line his insides from available orifices. Replace his bodily functions while feeding upon his energy -- heat and mind.

If it tires, it will absorb the elf completely, dissolving skin and muscle slowly. Often thriving on the electrical flares of pain and panic. Meat and organs. Later bones, leaving teeth for last. It takes months before such beasts grow bored with their hosts, though.

“Leave him here,” the cloaked figure purrs to the soldier. “It will take some time before he will be useful to us and our cause. The beast needs time to adjust to the fit. I recommend that you tend to your arousal when we are far from this place. Best not to confuse the thing with your essence, too.”

“Are you sure he will still be alive when we return?”

“If the creature wants him, and I do believe this to be so, he’ll live. He won’t want to, but it’s not a choice he gets to make now. If I’m wrong, which I never am, you’ve wasted only an elf. My condolences if you cannot be present for the dissolution if it happens. I assure you, though, this creature seems to share your tastes. And again, I am never wrong.”

-

When a season has passed, the men will return. They will use their old books to try to communicate with the beast of the cave. The suit will have taken over everything, leaving the elf trapped inside.

A deal will be offered. The elf will be freed of the chains if the suit agrees to serve the ones who had brought it such a host. The elf had been captured spying, so a fitting punishment is to use him against his own people. A suit that can learn to utilize the elf’s speed. The elf’s agility. That is immune to projectiles and most magic. That may be smart enough to reveal the elf’s face to his loved ones simply to demoralize his kind. The elf will be conscious of everything, yet unable to react.  

In exchange for the beast’s cooperation, the cloaked man and his agents will supply any captured members of the elf’s race to the cave. Endless offerings for the suits to feed upon.

The soldier grins as he fondles himself each night in his bed, waiting for the appointed day he can return to oversee such a plan. The elf is alive, deep underground, wishing he were dead. Sometimes, the soldier imagines that death. But mostly, he hopes his cloaked master is correct.

He could have the possessed elf stay with him. He could learn the language of the creature. He could have the best of both worlds, being present for the downfall of the damned, exclusive elves and then an audience to the eventual digestion of the one who had almost gotten away.

He climaxes at the thought of collecting the teeth as they are adopted by a black, horrid beast. It will smile once to the human soldier. The elf’s pearly whites will crookedly grin before they are expelled. Perhaps the sound of those teeth plipping onto the floor will be much like the soldier’s splattering cum.


	21. Apologetic Exchanges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stories trade hands. One scary. One sweet.

_Perhaps the sound of those teeth plipping onto the floor will be much like the soldier’s splattering cum._

“That’s…” Carlos murmurs as he sits at Cecil’s desk, reading from the notebook Earl’s recently presented. “...that’s messed up.”

“Sorry.”

The apology comes unbidden. So much so that Carlos startles, the flimsy collection of pages landing on the surface with a flourish. Up until this moment, Carlos had been certain he had been alone in the room.

Digging in one of the filing cabinets, Earl is likewise rigid. The moment Carlos turns his attention on the uniformed Scoutmaster, Earl slides his gaze away. His face flushes. He dutifully throws himself at fetching what he had been seeking. More noise this time. It reveals how awkward this situation is.

“I…” Carlos starts, rapidly replaying what he had been caught saying aloud. He knows the notebook is shared between them. And his thoughts had been verbalised, yet he had not intended to say anything.

Earl shrugs. “No, it’s...it’s fine. And true. And yes. Yes, I’m…”

“No,” interrupts the Scientist. “I didn’t mean…”

A handful of liability waivers is finally liberated from the cabinet. Earl holds them up like a shield. “I wouldn’t want any of that to happen in real life, I mean, I’ve said as much…”

“Of course,” Carlos breathes. “And I...speaking ironically…”

“Though, it makes sense if you think that.” Earl’s hair competes with his face for the most scarlet.

“I don’t --”

A horn blares twice. It silences the rest of what Carlos would say. Both men glance at the window, recognizing the tone of the sound. It is followed by the rev of an engine and squealing of tires. Earl cranes his head, catching sight of his car careening away.

Still blazing shades of red, he mutters, “Richard’s trying for his Car Jacking badge. And he’d have it too if he didn’t use the horn to announce himself.”

Carlos frowns, as grateful for the distraction as his companion seems. “But he just took your car.”

Earl shrugs. “To get his badge, he needs to get away successfully. I’m going to go. I doubt I’ll be back before the trip.”

The statement sounds as if he might be angry. At himself? At Carlos? And which is worse? thinks the scientist. Perhaps Earl is just vacating quickly. Serving them both by ending this encounter. The chance to ignore shame, or at least not have to justify his valid attractions to someone as foolish as Carlos. Perfect teeth need a big mouth to hide in, he decides with self-depreciation and guilt. That uncertain look that had been upon Earl’s face...

Carlos reaches down to fetch his keys. It is the least he can do. He looks up to offer them, along with copious apologies. But Earl Harlan is already gone.

\--

The conversation haunts Carlos for the weekend. He worries that Earl will no longer trust him or the others with his sexual fantasies and needs anymore. The very idea makes his chest tighten and his heart hurt.

When Cecil comes home from his show that night, it takes a long time to confess. It takes longer for him to stop crying, despite the gentle assurances of his boyfriend.

Finally, after a long sleep to recover from the exhaustion, Carlos is able to do something to make things right.

 

* * *

 

_The cave is dark but the soldier knows where to step now. His light burns low on his torch. He reaches the bottom of the road, remembering his first time here. Recalling the squeak and jostle of a wagon. The hisses and protests of a most delightful foe._

_It is finally time. The cloaked figure is waiting at the bottom. As the soldier slips in, the shape gestures at the wall._

_“It understands the Common tongue, now,” the soldier is told. “And it has agreed to the terms.”_

_“Then would you wait for me at the mouth of the cave?” the soldier asks. He is far more comfortable giving demands, but he knows to be gracious to this figure. Especially with what’s been gained._

_Teeth flash. “But of course.”_

_The soldier waits until he is alone with the prisoner. With the monster and the Elf. Still dangling from chains, there is a sheen of an outline in the flickering dark. The Elf has no features. His legs drag on the ground with a solid puddle of obsidian beneath him. The pose would be impossible for two arms to sustain without slipping from their socket, yet the suit supports him._

_“Hello,” the soldier tries. “I am told you understand my language.”_

_The figure does not react, though the puddle does. A corner of it drifts closer. The soldier clenches the torch and stops in his advance. A moment of fear grips him. What will stop the infestation from taking him?_

_Then, the ooze making up the puddle rises like a snake before coiling around the prisoner’s thigh. Merging into the rest of it. The soldier steadies. He has been told such a creature requires only one host._

_“Are you pleased with your gift?” he asks._

_He is surprised when the head jerks up. Black flesh peels back to reveal a cheek. From chin to ear, a jagged line of the Elf’s face is revealed. It looks obscene. A broken grin._

_The soldier stares for a long moment, before he bursts into laughter. “Well, would you be interested, then, in demonstrating your control over such a prize? I only ask as we would be interested in leading you outside. The one you possess was a vastly skilled fighter and we would use him to procure more of his kind for your kind.”_

_A head cocks, before the figure pulls its legs up. Standing, it is taller. Lithe. Hips twist. A neck lolls. Fingers flex. It appears eager to demonstrate that much._

_“Now, I’m able to release you from the bonds. You will not harm me if I approach. You will not harm me if I release you. I warn that if I do not return to my people, you will not be welcomed by my army. If you wish to challenge even that army, the one in the cloak will be waiting. There will be no further offerings to your cave.”_

_The creature bows its head. And trusting it, the soldier warily approaches. The prisoner makes no sudden moves. It stands impossibly still. Firelight glimmers on its form. With closer inspection, the soldier can see the lines of muscles. The shape of thighs. A bulge where a cock hides under the dark skin._

_He stops, trying not to stare. It would be dangerous to let his guard down so close to the unknown element. He reaches up to seize one of the manacles. The ooze remains on the Elf and he is free to unlatch the bond with a key. The creature continues to obey instructions._

_The soldier moves along to the other side. He repeats the gesture. The other lowers its arms slowly. It appears to be contemplating its liberation. It had always been loose and free in the cavern, but never without a host. A host lends form and function._

_The soldier relaxes. Shifts back. Then, faster than he can visually and mentally process, a firm and powerful grip seizes the soldier’s arm. He wears leather armour, yet a tendril of the creature loosens enough to seep between the protective layer._

_The soldier freezes, heart jumping into his throat. Had the cloaked one arranged this? Is the Elf able to overpower his oppressor? But…_

_No._

**_you want...watch_ **

_The words are in his head. They shudder through the soldier’s skin on vibrations and currents in his arm. He pulls back, stunned from the experience. He expects the thing to follow._

_It doesn’t. Instead, the mouth parts. Black coated lips widen. Then a new sound emerges. A gasp. A groan. Completely unlike the voice that had been in the soldier’s skull._

_The black skin thins, tightening around every contour of its victims body. The Elf’s erection is trapped. Toes curl and knees shake as the soldier realizes that the other stands only as the black suit wishes it. The strangled sound is not from the creature, but coming from within._

_Hips wiggle, and then the figure uses its freedom to turn giving the soldier a view of its backside. The shape of the Elf’s ass is defined. Heels slide on slick ground and a body bends, further exposing itself._

_It waits._

_“I…” the soldier, for once, is at a loss for words. “I do want to watch. And I want more.”_

_The body turns again. Then, kneels. Its discovery and employment of its new joints is quick. A hand lifts, fingers beckoning._

_The soldier approaches. He gets as close as touching distance. Wary again. The other waits, so after a moment, the soldier reaches out to lay a palm on the top of the suit’s shining head._

**_would you see shiver? sound? tell…_ **

_“You’re restraining his reactions,” the soldier announces. “I would like to see and hear him, yes…”_

_Immediately, the body beneath the human vibrates. And a raw scream breaks free. It lasts briefly, flaring into a warble. A whimper. The chest heaves, nipples being pushed out by harder flesh around it. The texture changes._

_“That’s...that’s very good,” the soldier swallows. Watching the Elf when he had arrived had aroused him but he is quickly passing the border of interest to full-blown need. His fingers have strayed from the head of the creature to his belt. “I’ve thought of little since last leaving, honestly.”_

_Confessing to this abomination -- the soldier should be careful, but he can’t help himself. The split grin appears again. The Elf is shaking._

_“Are you...inside him too?”_

_An arm lifts, inviting._

_The soldier caresses it._

**_very inside. deep, like caves. all in. keeps live. home of air. home of acid. tight home of nerves. stretch. settle. pull._ **

_The soldier hums, needing to stretch, settle or pull off his trousers. “Can...can I see his face?”_

_The grin widens. Then starts to split across the confined head of the Elf. The flesh recedes behind the skull. Under the chin. An eye peeks out. Then, the nose. The corners of lips become pink, though the inner components of the Elf -- his teeth, his tongue, his inner cheek -- remain coated. Lashes gum with only tears and the rust ringlets of hair stick to the sweat on the Elf’s brow._

_These ringlets the soldier grabs, tilting the Elf’s head up. A dazed stare follows, slowly sharpening as the suit ceases in its ministrations long enough to let its host focus._

_“Hello, Elf,” the soldier grins._

_Confused, perhaps stunned at the change, the Elf is speechless. Then, he starts to beg. “Please. Please, I…”_

_The words halt before the soldier can slap him. Something shifts below and the Elf’s eyes roll back. He twitches, spine arching. Throat bobbing as he moans. The sob is delicious._

_“Not so cocky now, are you? Have you cummed? Does it let you?”_

_Unable to form words, the Elf makes a sound that might serve as an answer. Aggrivated. Desperate._

_“You need to know how much I enjoy seeing you like this. How long we’ll keep you this way.”_

_As if anticipating the soldier’s thoughts, the external coating pulls the Elf’s head back. Internal, from behind the teeth, the Elf’s jaw is pried open. A rose-coloured tongue is released from black bondage and it gurgles and flaps about enticingly._

_“I think your new skin wants a demonstration of how much I want this. Does it suckle on your climaxes? If it has mine, it might not need you to do anything more than suffer, hmm?”_

_Tears slip against the sides of the Elf’s head. They slide against the wall of living flesh and it absorbs the salted offerings. The sobs are strangled by the creature deep in the gullet of the Elf._

_It lifts the Elf’s arms, setting slick grips on the belt buckle of the soldier. With each brush of fingers against the bare skin of his belly, the warrior hears its intent._

**_show you, yes. hands control. dexterous elf. warm you. taste you. partner._ **

_The soldier laughs, his member guided free. He would feel vulnerable but he senses the camaraderie. He feels the alliance. They both relish in the Elf’s distress. He allows the suit to take over, pulling him into a mouth forced open and a throat that keens against such indignity._

_Oh._

_The connection is warm. Hot. The Elf pulls up, nostrils flaring for breath. Loops of tendrils drape over the soldier’s cock, welcoming it into the ready mouth. He rocks forward immediately and gets a message that purrs through him._

_take shape. match you in all tight spaces. pace. size. volume._

_Peering down, the Elf’s eyes are wide. A spine stays disciplinarily rigid as legs shudder. The tendrils in the Elf’s mouth are pulling his tongue against the base of the soldier’s member. It fights back and the friction is glorious. With each drag and thrust, the soldier knows the act is mimicked by the suit in their prisoner’s ass._

_He cums at the thought. It does not take much, as this fantasy has played out many nights while the soldier waited. He prefers this so much more than coming upon the remains of a nuisance._

_The Elf chokes, yet still breathes. The suit breathes for him. The few flecks that spill from swelling lips are absorbed by the suit. The creature thrills at the experience. The soldier feels as much buzzing through him in mental intrigue. He slips out and there is a satisfying pop as the Elf tries to cough._

_Then, the soldier takes a knee. He is spent from the experience, and the pinned cock on the other remains hard._

_“Oh, that...that was...you are…” the soldier gasps. “I would do that often.”_

_The Elf sobs silently, but the suit certainly agrees._

_“I would lie here for a little, but then we take the surface,” the soldier states. “Would it be asking for too much to see the Elf writhe?”_

_The body before the soldier shifts, exposing a very abused organ that bobs free of its clever restraints. On that penis, only the tip remains covered. A black cap of tenacious hunger slipping over the foreskin and into the shaft. How deep? the soldier wonders._

_The Elf is allowed to wail as he shudders, having no control over arms. His hips are granted some purchase, but the movements are ineffective. The soldier sprawls on his side watching with pleasure._

_“I am very impressed. We shall harvest many Elves this way, but I’ll tell you right now, you will always be my favourite.”_

_The suit accepts this compliment. A particularly sharp scream skips off of the stone, the creature learning how to make replies through its host._

 

* * *

Earl comes home with branches in his hair. Half of his uniform needs tailoring, as it is full of holes. Carlos steps forward in alarm, worried about the skin that might be beneath that fabric.

He is so worried that he forgets the notebook on the table. He had intended to hand it over immediately, before his nerve breaks up.

“It’s fine,” Earl offers before the Scientist can reach him. “Superficial scrapes. Got them as soon as we set up. I would have mended the uniform but I had...more important things to do.”

From the kitchen, Cecil clears his throat. Carlos hears a finger tapping on paper.

“Oh, um, speaking of other things…” he starts. His face begins to heat. “I’m so sorry about the thing I said earlier and, well, I did some thinking and my own...um, other thing and…”

Carlos ducks his head and snatches the corner of the notebook. It is the same one Earl had written in, but now more pages have filled in. Carlos turns, thrusting it out.

He finds a bound collection of bark being thrust at him, too. Twine is stitched into the side, holding the sheets together like a book made more of wood than paper.

“I wrote something, too,” Earl states. “I’m sorry I don’t always acknowledge the things you want in my stories.”

Carlos stares. Earl fidgets. It is Cecil who steps up and takes the work from each, switching hands, and then shooing them off to the sitting room to read.

“I get to see them both after,” he warns.

 

* * *

 

_“Slave! Fetch me my armor and my sword!” The redhead held still as he waited, posing himself accordingly to make it easier for his half-Elf slave to strap his armor onto his body. “I am going to go and deal with the Humans moving onto our lands. You will ensure that my estate remains clean and orderly in my absence.”_

_“I worry about you going off on your own so much…”_

_The Elf snorted, snatching his blade out of the dark-skinned hands of the slave. “The day I ask for your opinion will be the day when half-breeds are worth more than a goat at market.”_

_“...Yes, Master.”_

_“Just do as I say and nothing more. You think too much for a half-breed. I do not have the time to properly deal with your questioning of my desires. Rest assured that you WILL be dealt with upon my return.”_

_The slave nodded his perfect hair, often the only trait his Master acknowledged. He then settled in to wait for the return and the discipline that would follow. But his Master did not return as he had said he would, greatly distressing the slave. Instead of leaving his Master for dead and trying to have his collar removed, however, the slave went seeking the Elf out._

_He traveled for months. It was only by chance that he came across an assault of a small Elven village far from his Master’s estate. He hunched down to hide, and watched a creature, black as ink, helping the Humans overwhelm the meagre defences. He had heard of these horrors before and as he watched, he slowly came to recognize the distinct movements of the beast._

_“Master!” He moved without thinking, running towards the creature that had once been his Master._

_The figure stopped and twisted around to meet the half-Elf. A hand was held out to attack but was stopped suddenly, whether because of its host or something else was unknown. What happened next however was that the slave threw his arms around the figure and there was a piercing scream. The half-Elf gasped but held on, watching as the substance started to ripple and peel away, trying to escape his touch._

_This spurred him into taking further action. He clapped both of his hands onto what had been his Master's face and he held on as tight as he could. "Let him go, abomination! Release him!"_

_The howling and screaming continued but slowly the blackness peeled off of his Master’s body, driven away by the touch mixed with his love for the Elf or something that came from his mottled genes. The Elf fell limp to the ground once he was freed, pale and weak._

_Knowing that he needed to act quickly if he wanted to save others, the slave grabbed a glass vial that had been looted from a shop and roughly handled the creature that shuddered at his touch, forcing it inside. A cork was missing but his thumb served the purpose well enough. "Help bring my Master into an empty building! Please!" he pleaded. "Did you have an Alchemist here? I need their tools!"_

_Several Elves took pity and helped carry their former attacker into the requested house, offering a few warm blankets and a chair for the redhead. While wary of listening to such a half-Breed, they still recognized his actions as having saved them from the monster. While battle raged on the edge of the settlement, the slave got to work._

_The sickly Elf shuddered, watching in confusion as his former slave worked with the vial. He whined, shaking his head. "That beast...be wary..!"_

_The glass vial shook in the Half-Elf’s hand but he gripped onto it tightly, a look of stern determination on his face. “I know how to destroy such a thing so that it can never hurt another,” he promised. He walked up to a table, mixing ingredients together with his free hand._

_“How do you know this?” panted the Elf, unable to move and clearly in shock. He was dangerously pale. Fading, like a flower._

_“It is part of Alchemy, Master,” the slave explained over his shoulder as he poured the mixture into the vial. There was a loud shriek but he held onto the vial with both hands, refusing to let go when it started to tremble and shake in his hands. All feared the glass might crack. “Almost…”_

_The Elf watched in glazed wonder as the all too familiar blackness inside started to tear itself apart, becoming smaller and smaller before vanishing in a thin plume of acrid smelling smoke. “Is it..?”_

_“Destroyed, Master.”_

_The Elf looked at the other, a puzzled look on his ashen face. "I was not aware you knew such things..."_

_"You never asked, Master," he apologized._

_"Because I am a fool," the Master whispered. "Dear one, I deserved everything that has befallen me..."_

_"No," gasped the Half-Breed, placing a hand on the other’s arm. “Master, I am only too glad to be of some help to you.”_

_"I abused you wrongfully for years, to my shame. I had no right."_

_"Master..."_

_But the Elf shook his head. "You do not deserve to be forced to call anyone but yourself Master."_

_The slave reached out, touching his Lord’s brow. "Master, you are tired from your ordeal. I understand I..." He gasped when his wrist was caught in a firm but gentle grip._

_"I hold no claim over you any longer."_

_"...you are selling me?" the Half-Elf's eyes widened as the redhead reached out, working on the lock on his collar. "Master..!"_

_"Be still," the Elf whispered, removing the collar from a dark throat. He ran his hand over it tenderly, comforting sore flesh that had been covered for years in unyielding metal. Finding his strength by passionately holding him close, the Elf said, "none could afford you. Not even I. Your altruism and bravery deserves to wander where it will. Be free, fair one."_

_"Kiss me over the indentations?" the liberated one softly mewled to the other._

_The Elf smiled, lowering his head, pressing soft lips to Carlos' throat. He hummed against his flesh, comforting. "If you wish to go..."_

_"I could never..."_

_"Why?"_

_"I love you."_

_"...even after all I did to you?"_

_The half-Elf smiles, "I have always loved you, Master."_

 

* * *

 

Carlos looks up from the page.

"Still messed up?" Earl asks with amusement.

"I am embarrassed to read this and know the author," Carlos teases in kind. "Were you earning your sappy fluff in fiction badge?"

"Oh?" Earl drawls, leaning in. "So I shouldn't kiss here, then?"

Carlos' eyes flutter, breath catching when he feels hot breath on his neck. "Earl...I'm sorry..."

Earl pauses. "Are we stopping? Safeword?"

It takes Carlos a moment to realize that Earl misunderstands the meaning of his apology. "No, I mean...I'm sorry for speaking poorly of the first story," Carlos explains. "It was wrong."

Earl slides around the jugular of the other, teeth skating against nerves. "You can have your opinions. I know you. I know you didn't mean to hurt anyone by it. I'm sorry for taking it badly."

Carlos shudders, whining as he clutches onto Earl. "Earl..."

"Your labcoat has a high collar," Earl says wetly, by way of excusing himself. "I will mark you. Example of...how we can affect one another. But even the things that hurt..." A warning bite that makes the Scientist jerk and lose senses. "Go away, even if they affect us in shocking ways at the time..."

Carlos' eyes become hazy and he nods, slowly. He smiles shyly, turning his head to kiss Earl, ending it with a shy nip.

"My attempted car thief suggested I looked pretty feral when I caught him. Perhaps you would like to test that theory?"

"I think... I would like that very much," Carlos agrees with a wicked smile. No ropes. No toys. Just Earl pinning him down.

Cecil plucks the pages from the men and orders them to tangle up in the bedroom. He plans to read here.

“Yes, Sir,” comes a chorus as the boys run off to obey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for over 10,000 hits. That's...well, a lot. We adore your feedback, too. And if you like this and would enjoy other ideas -- no promises -- but you can message either of us with prompts and that might inspire future chapters. :3
> 
> Prompt [Jathis](http://jathis.tumblr.com/ask)  
> Prompt [Safetypants](http://dangersocks.tumblr.com/ask)


	22. Prompts Accepted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein prompts are given and turned into stories for the enjoyment of everyone.

_‘hi! I’ve just caught up on your recent stories. They are so hot. Do you take prompts? I’ve noticed a lack of pillory or stocks. Its such a good way to keep the pets still.’_

Cecil squeaks when he discovers the message in his inbox. Beyond the incident of the strange truck driver, (who is now in his kitchen, teasing his chef), the radio host hasn’t ever received outside ideas about what kind of smut to write or what scenes to bring to the playroom.

He gleefully pushes away from the computer and bounds downstairs to share the suggestion.

\--

Adam concocts a set of pillories overnight with Earl’s help. Carlos catches up on work so he’ll be free and Cecil prepares the scene. They end up waiting one more week when Carlos’ experiment develops unexpectedly, requiring an attempt to recreate and then understand the results. Earl agrees to work a split shift and while Cecil has no official change in his schedule, two interns are lost and he suspects that management won’t have new ones before the next show.

Adam takes a key and uses the time to set up the pair of restraining devices in the playroom. Over the course of the week, they are sanded and painted. Left out so the others can peek in on them, gaining excitement for the planned event.

The pillories are different from one another, designed to match the dimensions and requests of their intended subjects. Adam is particularly pleased that he doesn’t need Earl’s measurements, having kept them from the breeding apparatus in a previous game. Carlos barely notices his being taken, hunched over a microscope as he mumbles ascent and has the former Scoutmaster work around him.

The session starts once Adam and Cecil are convinced that the application of the pillory leaves no limbs without circulation, and the pair feel comfortable in their poses. A reminder of safeword policies follow. Carlos has wood snapped around his neck, with his wrists also enclosed. A thin layer of leather padding keeps him from rubbing his skin raw. Earl is more uniquely bound, doubled over and trapped around his middle. His wrists are held behind him, also bound in the varnished wood. His ankles are firmly locked to the ground.

Both have presentable asses and the Voice teases them into believing a crowd is ready to humiliate them. They know they have done nothing wrong, but Adam plays the Sheriff, trumping up charges that warrant whatever comes next.

“Disgusting,” he growls, pacing around to where the two cannot follow his movements.

“ **You hear jeers and agreement** ,” the Voice notes, crouching at Carlos’ knees.

Adam continues, “John Peters cannot sell his sheep now that they have been so debauched.”

“Oh God,” Carlos groans, and Cecil playfully taps at his thighs.

Earl tugs on his bonds, which only cause his ass to wiggle. “That’s a lie!”

“You’ve been b-a-a-a-a-d,” Adam warns, scooping a switch and flicking it across the parted legs of the ginger. “And try to deny that you aren’t a slut. We can all see your arousal from here.”

This much is true, as Earl is growing hard at his predicament.

Cecil strokes the dark leg of his lover. “You’re not that hard yet, so perhaps your companion led you astray? Confess, and we’ll believe it was his idea.”

Carlos retains freedom of his legs and he squirms, shaking his head in its prison. “But nothing happened. We were never in those fields de...debauching any sheep. We were accounted for the whole time we’ve been in your village!”

“Where?” Adam snaps, giving the challenge another punctuation by smacking the freckled bottom again. “Which member of our esteemed town will speak up for your innocence?”

“ **The townspeople, entranced by the spectacle of such two pretty newcomers, say nothing. Your pillories face a wall and you can only see one another, though you hear familiar snatches of voices. Those you’ve spoken to who should be your defenders. There is a rising volume of suggestions being thrust forward and none of them recommend your release**.”

The pair think of what those suggestions could be. Carlos shudders and Earl tries to free himself of his bondage. Adam circles around to the side with their heads and whispers, “safewords?”

“Purple,” Carlos whispers meekly. Adam makes eye contact with him, kneeling to peer up at the face to confirm it. Carlos nods his head in assurance.

“Olive,” Earl pants. “Olive you are lying scum!”

Adam rises only to grab at a handful of flustered hair. “Your slander moves no one to your side. And with such an open backside…”

In time with the warning, something splatters against Earl’s knees. He knows it is whipped cream flung from one of his serving spoons, but the Voice murmurs it could be something else. Something less desirable.

Carlos’ back catches a glob and the jeers become rowdier. Cecil describes the beginning of the assault the two may face. Pelted vegetables and rotten fruit. There will be cheers for any lucky marksman capable of striking targets like the testicles and balls. Carlos has better protection to block them, but Earl is left open. Adam slides a gloved hand over Earl’s cheek as he draws away again, switch in hand to produce the illusion of projectiles.

Cecil narrates the process, where the Sheriff encourages the punishment, announcing that there will be no consequences for if the prisoners are left broken or bruised. He also calls out unseen figures who have brought items of curious shape.

“ **You are starting to stick from the juices of several things you dare not name. You feel cuts on your skin start to sting and itch as liquid trails down your flesh. You will glisten, mottle-coloured and disgusting. You cannot see where the blows come from. You can only watch one another flinch as footsteps and bodies climb onto the platform. Items you hear are dropped down in the filth and you hear debates over what will be used and where. You are helpless to stop it.** ”

Earl strains but his thighs gain no leverage. His chest heaves as he dangles on the invisible side. He peers frantically at Carlos. “You can save yourself.”

“I’m not going to lie,” Carlos hisses. “I will not damn you--ah!”

Cecil pours gel over the crack of Carlos’ crack. A thumb slides into the space and waits as the prisoner tenses and attempts to shy away. He huffs his safeword, clenching his fists. He cranes his neck to watch the top half of Earl.

Adam is announcing that this one, hard and dripping already, does not deserve lubrication. The imagined crowd agrees.

Together, they are penetrated with unseen objects. Their minds are left to fathom what they could be. All the while, Adam continues to thwack legs and asses with the switch. Earl makes faces, pained and pleasured. Carlos knows exactly when he cums.

He even hears the roar of incredulous joy from the crowd as their suspicions are seemingly confirmed. Earl droops in his pose, face flushed in shame.

“Early?” mewls Carlos, wanting to thrust into the object rubbing at his prostate. He is concerned, though.

The ginger tilts his head enough to give an assuring wink at his partner.

“What a whore,” Adam bellows. “But we’re just getting started. You there, fetch me a vise.”

Something heavy lands on the ground, reverberating through the pillory. Earl mewls, shaking his head.

Carlos cannot see what is happening to the other, though the squeaks and gasps from his partner are timed with the drag and draw of his own penetration. The Scientist’s balls are fondled and teased as his knees shake. His ankles skate on slick tarp.

“What say you,” Adam drawls, “that we leave them like this, little hooks in their dirty regions. Bulky dental cages over their lying yaps so the folks at night can mercifully feed them. Maybe this sheeplover needs another sheep.”

“No, stop,” Earl sobs. “Olive you, whatever we did, we’re sorry. Just stop.”

“Purple,” Carlos adds. He feels something click and then his ass vibrates on a painfully low setting. “Pur...purple.”

He will soon be mocked for wriggling. For clenching and changing his posture for better depth. But then Cecil circles around and murmurs that he is one of many generic witnesses, eager to fuck the helpless mouth before him. Carlos does not wear a gag, but the Voice invents one. The Scientist opens his jaw, aware that he can still speak out his safewords. But he still believes he cannot bite or fight back.

Earl watches as his cock is supposedly trapped in a metal apparatus. His balls squeezed and his slit pierced by objects produced with the help of the crowd.

Cecil cums, and then Adam. Both on Carlos, who shudders through his own orgasm soon after. He thinks the slow dildo setting had dragged his climax out, though he knows it had been Adam slapping Earl and hissing that he belonged there that did it.

If he should be worried, he is too exhausted to put the effort in. He droops in his setting, peeping a warning. This is already noticed by Cecil, who eases out the dildo and unlatches the lock with a snap, freeing Carlos. He slumps, caught by the radio host. A mattress waits nearby.

Adam kneels before Earl. “And you?”

“I can...I can stay this way. Just...maybe half hour.”

“I’ll loosen the cage.”

“Keep...please. The pillory can stay. I’m...I’m interested to see if I can free myself. But I want that...half hour.”

Adam kisses the glistening nose. “Water first. I’ll hand feed you a cookie. Then, I’ll be really quiet and I’ll watch you sit there, or escape, from behind.”

Earl snorts.

“Then a bath,” Cecil hums, petting Carlos’ sticky skin.

“Tub’s big enough for two…”

\--

Cecil carries Carlos upstairs. Adam lounges so quietly that Earl can believe he is alone. The half hour goes too fast, but the Scoutmaster is able to produce one more orgasm by imagining his peril. He flushes as he thinks of Adam silently watching that loss of control. A few moments after that, he redeems himself by undoing the bondage. It takes six minutes and only two charms.

He shrugs the wood off and then sinks to his knees. When he peers up with worn eyes, he sees his companion and observer straddling a chair. It could be a throne, what with the differences in their elevation.

“I’m very fond of you in bondage,” Adam murmurs. “Your struggles are adorable.”

Earl drops on the ground, naked and covered in whipped cream and juice. He is disgraced and vulnerable. The thought leaves him fuzzy. Wanted.

“Bathtime?”

“Please.”

\--

_To this week’s Anonymous contributor; we would like to extend a thank you! Your suggestion was wonderful and was a lot of fun to write out! Please, do not be shy to send in more suggestions._


	23. Prompts and Circumstance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another ingenious prompt leads to a masterpiece of a scene, as well as some introspection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer** : This chapter features implied body modification/dismemberment and may be disturbing for some readers. Please proceed with discretion.

 

  


_!!! Loved your most recent chapter. You took stock of my suggestion. How lovely! Though if I can be selfish (hahah, I will be) please play with another of my ideas. Like, encasement. Perhaps something more permanent, as feisty slaves do like to escape. They have that habit… Perhaps a more concrete solution?_

\----

Cecil raises his eyebrows at the speed of the comment. He’s only just posted the story of the travelers caught and displayed to an unkind public. Humiliated interlopers. It’s been several days since the scenario and he’s only perfected his fictional retelling now.

It is nice to get comments. It is very nice, he thinks. Everyone should leave comments, even if anonymously -- as this reader has done.

While he does not know the identity of the curious commenter, he does like the suggestion enough to run it past the Scoutmaster and the Scientist over supper.

“I know Adam’s driving to...Haw-a….hmmm. Hawah...eye-eye? How do you pronounce two ‘I’s together?”

Earl frowns, picking at the fat Carlos is cutting from his steak. “I think you shouldn’t try,” he admits. “Likely the sound will summon something. Ugly business, that. It’s probably an awful state to drive to and I hope Adam gets back soon.”

“Agreed,” Carlos nods. He has given up any hope of ever teaching them how to properly pronounce the states and he allows them to do it without argument. “We’d have more fun with the scenario if he were present. You said it was from an online source?”

Cecil hums. “I’ve noticed kudos and likes from new readers. Maybe the same one. We have a fan, though I remind you that I take a lot of liberties with the stories I post. And you’ll both tell me if you’re uncomfortable if I share scenes or portrayals, right?”

Earl rolls his eyes. “You make me a naked and angry Elf, every time. No one I deal with cares. I think it’s an old fad, now.”

“And I downplay how lovely the Half-Elf is,” agrees Cecil. “No one would see the real Carlos and think he’s the same. The reality is much more wonderful…”

“You also exaggerate my...uh…” Carlos blushes as he struggles to say the words. “My size.”

Cecil pouts. “Your size is perfect, too.”

“In every incarnation,” Earl agrees, interrupting a flushing Carlos before he makes a protest. “And I agree, we should hold off on exploring this idea until Adam’s back if we’re doing anything more constraining than wood contraptions and locks. Just...just in case.”

“That could take weeks,” Carlos observes. “Ceec, do you think you’ll mind? I know you like to keep your fans happy.”

Cecil sets his fork and knife down. “It’s for the best if we do this as a team. I’m sure my readers, anonymous prompters or not, will be patient. They’ll understand.”

His lovers grin.

“Vanilla ice cream?” Earl prompts. “Or vanilla sex?”

“We’re adults,” Carlos laughs. “Why not both?”

\--

Earl thinks there is nothing wrong with the man who approaches him at the small bar. The stranger is polite to him, buying the redhead drinks as the two converse about various topics. Things get much more interesting when art is brought up.

The stranger’s eyes brighten at once. He smiles cheerily as he speaks to Earl about his own work being showcased at an exclusive museum. “I do mostly work with cement,” he says proudly.

“Like...sculptures?” Earl inquires.

“Something like that,” the other agrees with a nod. “To be honest...I think you would make an amazing new piece for the museum.” He looks the redhead over with hungry eyes. 

“As a model?” Earl laughs, shattering the awkward moment where he assumes the worst by the statement. It had sounded as if this guy had meant Earl would literally be an exhibit? He’s had too much, he scolds himself, mindlessly accepting another drink.

“Something like that…”

And Earl finishes his glass and bobs his head to the idea of helping the other. He blushes at the concept of being good enough for modeling. The other man is rugged. Intense. Back from a long trip, but the ginger is pretending he’s only just met him.

The tab is picked up by the brunet and Earl follows him out of the bar, considering the chances he might have if he goes home with him. The blur of streetlights illuminate a muddy lot. It is isolated, with a post and car blocking out the street. He waits five long seconds before he turns to find his new friend and he remembers little else. Or, well, his character does not. He crumples, feeling arms scoop him up and a deliciously dangerous chuckle chase him into the scene.

\--

 **You are Earl Harlan and you are safe. At all times you can remember to communicate your safeword. No harm will come to you, no matter the scenario described. Your character, though, has made a serious mistake,** Cecil coos in Earl’s ear, smiling as he watches Earl shift in his pose as his dick slowly wakes to the story proper. **You are unconscious and you have been taken to an exclusive and rare museum to become part of one of the exhibits.**

“Oh Gods…”

**Gods cannot help you here…**

A kiss is stamped to his cheek. Then, his arms are secured behind his back and his shoulders are slipped into a harness. The harness hangs from above, distributing his weight so he dangles safely. His clothes are removed without care. There is no use for them any longer and while Earl is meant to be unconscious for this, he remains aware outside of the Voice. Everything that happens feeds into the fantasy.

His limp body is inspected by two men, limbs stroked and squeezed to test for condition and give. His balls are cupped briefly, the shaft of his dick teased with the pads of worn fingers before being left alone. 

“What do you think?” Adam asks with a crooked grin. “He’s a good specimen, hm?”

“I don’t know…” Cecil mutters with particular taste, shrugging his shoulders. “He’s not as good as our first one.” He gestures over at their other creation.

While Adam had been wooing Earl at the bar in his basement, Cecil had been in Adam’s garage with Carlos, using his Voice on the Scientist. While the previous play of stocks and bondage had been entertaining, Carlos is more cautious about exploring the theme of encasement.

“Perhaps a compromise,” he had asked.

As always, comfort of subs is a priority. Cecil is especially glad that his boyfriend is being more vocal about his comfort zones.

The pair work on an experiment. Cecil enforces the concept of Carlos being able to listen to and enjoy the power of the Voice, but in the course of their game the Scientist will be capable of breaking free at any moment. A state of two minds is being exercised. One: Carlos is a character subject to the story Cecil weaves. The other: Carlos remains an observer of both the scenario and how it makes him feel. This latter part of him has more control, capable of overriding the Voice commands.

They have crafted an employee at the museum. The owner had found him beautiful enough to discreetly steal. His character, like Earl, had been restrained and harnessed. A block of concrete had been built beneath him. Stone is set to just above his knees, legs parted and his beautiful cock left available. Then, they have modified him over several weeks, always careful to keep him alive. Fed through coaxes and threats. Kept clean. His arms are lifted and fixed to the stone above. His only garment, a coat of the purest white, is now permanently on him as his arms are bound forever to the low hanging roof of the office.

When left without a gag, his shouts have been unheard. His pleasure is granted based upon the aesthetic mood of the pair that have curated him. He is a dark column in a brightly lit private space.

In actuality, Carlos stands with his legs and arms held in place on hooks loose enough for him to disentangle without help. Paper mache plastered up his legs helps the illusion and every ten minutes before Adam hauls in Earl, Cecil coaches Carlos on how to pause the presentation long enough to lower his hands and regain feeling, reiterate the control he has over the Voice, and to expand upon the story with new ideas.

The one slave exhibit needs to grow as the two curators have come to a disagreement. Cecil wants to preserve his find, prolonging the showcase of living and giving art. Adam, though, wants to be more hands on. Believes in sacrifice and its benefits. And while he can agree that such a pretty specimen like Carlos deserves to be admired in an untouched state, he would like to see a little more red.

The passive art fan at the bar, then.

Earl is aroused when he is narrated to come awake. Since then, he has been stripped and prepared. Washed and appraised. Suspended with his own thighs set in stone. While their first sculpture is left in the corner where the roof is low, Earl is a centerpiece of the room. The garage becomes Cecil’s office. Once uncluttered and simply professional, it now looks like a mess with a small concrete mixer and plywood drafted for shaping the encasing square. The Voice tells Earl that he has been vulnerable and posable for two full days. Unable to save himself from their designs, they admire him in that state while the concrete cures.

He blinks, acting confused as he rouses. Adam is on a stepping stool, unlatching the harness from above. It will no longer be needed to hold Earl. His arms are restrained behind him in binders and these have thin straps stretching to the ceiling to keep him upright.

He would protest. Speak. Demand answers or clarity, but a gag the same scarlet as his binders leaves his jaw locked open. Before he fully realizes his position, the garbled sound he makes embarasses him. Then, so does his nakedness. Then finally, his inability to move.

“Early?” Adam whispers gently from his side. “Do the buttons in your mitts work?”

Earl blinks, then presses his left thumb down. A chime answers. He winks consent while he tries the right. A more urgent sound signifies his “clover” button. 

“Good,” confirms Adam, before he asks Earl to confirm the “olive” sound again.

When Earl does, he drapes an arm around the confused ginger and strokes his cheek. “I am so glad you volunteered for this. You’re not as pretty as our friend,” he directs the head to Carlos. Earl is prepared to see the Scientist as his character, a torso bound in stone. Blinded. Gagged. Beautifully helpless with a large cock exposed and caged. “But you’re also a work in progress so it’s forgivable,” completes the brunet.

Earl jerks his head away, letting his breathing hitch. His legs fight their bondage. He is trapped, the concrete sealed heavy around him. He might topple were it not for the arm binders held aloft.

“Oooh, don’t shake yourself too hard,” Cecil coos. To Earl’s character, he is a stranger dressed in a luxurious suit of pink velvet and black heels. “You’ve got a few loose parts we haven’t contained, yet.”

A hand uplifts Earl’s cock and he whines at the touch. He has never been naked before strangers before. He acts horrified while pressing the left button in his glove.

Adam jumps down from the aluminum step ladder and then grabs several things from a wheelbarrow. “You’ve been so generous with me making a mess of your office, why don’t you choose how you’d best like to keep him from leaking?”

“For now,” Cecil affirms. “I do like when I have my pretty one spill. Let’s see, this one has the screw in bolt.”

Earl squeals as his peripherals catch the toy in question. He squirms as the hand takes up his tender skin again. Adam needs to secure his hips before Cecil applies the trap and the brunet in the concrete-stained clothes slaps at his captive, saying, “Your pet is more behaved but this one is going to need more restraint. Maybe a stone wall behind him where we can affix his arms. Move him outside so he’s not taking up so much space. If we coat him in concrete, everyone will think he’s another piece of stone.”

Earl would cum at the suggestion had the cock cage not been secured. The sound he makes holds no room for dignity. Adam slides an arm up Earl’s pubic hair and then hugs Earl’s stomach as it quivers and writhes.

“We’ve lots to discuss,” agrees Cecil. “Shall I treat you to lunch as you run some ideas by me?”

Adam reaches up to pinch a nipple. “I would like that very much. He’s not going anywhere.”

The pair leave, Cecil’s Voice describing how Earl is left alone to consider his fate for a few hours. Carlos, his character left without senses, is still free to observe how he feels about the fictional cruelties. He can also consider Earl’s reaction, the ginger mewling as he tries to free himself. As he finds that fruitless. As the danger sets in.

Oh God, Carlos thinks. He is hard himself, not truly contained by cock rings and bondage. He…

He closes his mouth and finds he can. It is not gagged. Only the Voice says it is so. He then swallows and wishes to speak to Earl. 

Right. He can.

“I am in control,” he breathes. A little shakily. “Are you okay, Early?”

The other pauses, and then Earl turns his head to Carlos and blinks. He sees the other as he is, and not as a helpless fixture in a wall. He buzzes his “olive” button. 

“I’m...I’m going to climb out of this. Uh...do you mind?”

_Olive._

Carlos disengages himself from the illusion of entrapment. He finds he can bring his arms down. They tingle again with returning blood. He lifts his legs and while they are dirty with paper mache, he can move them. He knows, inside the box Earl stands in, it will be the same. The ginger is bound by a spreader bar and ankle cuffs, not concrete. It is what he believes, though, that fuels his darker side.

The Scientist steps out of his cube and wanders forward to give Earl’s hip a kiss. “You’ll remember your safewords and be alright?”

Earl confirms it with a button.

“Good. I’m going to step out but you can pretend I’m still there. Helpless and luckier than you. My character’s heard of what they have planned for you. And he is unable to communicate it. You’ll see soon enough.”

Earl snickers briefly, amused. He buzzes twice and then lets himself return to his peril.

\--

“A bird feeder,” Adam muses when he returns. “Carve the bottom out for a bath. Hell, we could have a planter. Collect the waste and...bamboo stalks!”

Cecil gnaws on a lip, shaking his head. “You’re always so final with your creations. I mean, yes, they demonstrate the finality of life. The mortality and morality of us all, though no one but us two will appreciate that.”

“Art is supposed to be fun,” Adam counters, running an arm up and down Earl’s legs as he returns. “I think I’ll have more fun with this outside of storage. In the garden with more concrete. Even if the interactive experience is not long lasting, the body will remain and I will remember.” 

Earl’s lips have since started to spill saliva. He hangs exhausted from his struggles but the touches have him tensing.

“So you want to cover him completely,” Cecil murmurs, moving to where his desk would be. “That will be costly and there’s feeding tubes to consider…”

“I don’t think those will matter,” Adam drawls. “Especially if we want a bamboo display. I’ll be abroad soon and I figure I’ll have all my fun before I go.”

Earl listens, unable to ignore the contemplation. His penis presses against the heavy metal bound about it. The pinch and pierce of it provides a perfect point of agony. He remembers to breathe and to keep his eyes open. He knows they will be dazed. He keeps his attention on the buttons. On what arm commands what safewords. He relishes the imagined hours that pass and the darkness that falls. Will anyone find him? Are his captors fiercely guarding him as an investment?

Adam returns to the block of stone, dragging the step stool across the hard floor. “Okay, so...pretty thing, I do like when art interacts. We’ve got several things we’re certain we’ll do but one point is up for debate between my partner and I.”

Earl’s nostrils flare as he warily follows Adam’s progress.

“My partner is an old school art lover. And while he’s ironically kept his own project intact, he thinks you’ll not only save more money when I cover you with stone without your arms, you’ll also look more classically aesthetic.”

Earl squeals around his gag at the connotation. Adam steps up to match his height, reaching out to touch Earl’s biceps.

“I am not opposed to the work involved. I have the tools. I can see my companion’s point. But I have not yet had a chance to play with a particular part of you that I admire. We’ve tucked many things into the ass of our first exhibit. I love interactive art, so the question is, pretty thing, how do we make this a little more interesting?”

Earl listens, his chest seizing at the danger of dismemberment. When encasement had been brought up, he had not expected the others to delve into some of his other notes. He buzzes the “olive” chime in order to encourage Adam to continue, even as he starts to tear up.

“As we’re divided on the point, I think a test could do us well. I’m going to put an anal hook on your arm binders. We’ll set you up and if you can show us that you deserve your arms. That you can implement them in the whole of you...I’ll grant you the right to keep them. We’ll time how long it takes for you to cum. Oh, and to be fair, you should start with a blank slate.”

Cecil suddenly loosens the cock cage and as he carefully pulls it free, he pumps the sensitive organ twice. Earl shudders, cumming at the easy manipulation of his free balls. He gasps and droops, keening pitifully. Drool globs down his chin. Cecil wipes the other slick solution from his hands, narrating that he feeds it to the column that was Carlos.

The other slave is obedient.

Adam scoops up a coarse towel and wipes the limp organ off. Then, he states, “from scratch, we’ll hook you up and loosen the arm binders. You’ll have to penetrate yourself and make yourself cum again. If you can be useful, you can stay as you are. Oh no, no no, you don’t get to win freedom. You’re art. But I’ll leave the hacksaw out of it.”

Earl sucks in a breath, fondling the left button in his bondage mitt as he assesses the challenge of the scenario. He is a Scoutmaster and a sous chef. He is many things, and he knows he can do this.

He confirms his participation with another chime, even as he shakes his head. Adam and Cecil set up the hook. Adam applies lubrication, though Cecil describes that it is dry. Unfair. The whole contest will be unfair.

Earl’s cock twitches at the suggestion.

The hook is rigged to the binders and then Adam loosens the string holding Earl’s arms back and upwards. There is still tension keeping him from falling over in exhaustion. The hook is guided to his hole and the character Earl plays is penetrated for the first time. He flexes his ass and tries to think of things to arouse him. He pushes and pulls and tugs, growing used to the alien sensation. He is flushing all over, humiliated by the act. By being watched as he is made to do this. He does not want to lose his arms. He does not want to die as a crafted display, and then have his body sealed up in stone to rot unnoticed by all but his assailants.

He is hard. It is the peril that puts him there. It is the danger. The vulnerable helplessness. He hears snickers and whispered comments. They make his ears burn. He leaks from his tip, as well as from his lips. If he didn’t suffer seizures, he would be blindfolded. He would be deprived of senses save for their mockery and the feeling of his arms working to fuck himself.

“Beautiful,” Cecil breathes.

“Yeah, he’s alright,” Adam agrees with narrow eyes.

Earl grunts, guttural and shamed when he finally climaxes. He droops and Adam jumps onto the stool in order to keep him aloft.

“How you are you?” he whispers.

Earl thinks, before buzzing the “olive” button once, the “clover” button once, and then the “olive” button again. 

He is good. He needs a break. To stretch. Drink. Recover. Then, he wants to continue.

He is kissed, teeth lingering on his shining skin. “We’ll get you down, Early.”

\--

Over his break, Cecil massages Earl’s arms as Adam checks on the equipment.

**You are praised for how lovely the act had been. In order for the contest to be fair for your keepers, you feel the return of the cock cage and the pair take the hook out, leaving you feeling empty. The night passes, long and lonely as you are hooded and left to wait for the final challenge. You try to rest. You cannot stop thinking of the oncoming events. If you fail, it will be bad for you. Someone feeds you water and you drink gratefully, mewling with a sore jaw about how you should be freed. You are not given sympathy as your nipples are pinched. You don’t know if it is the brunet or the curator. A long finger pushes at your caged flesh. You soon suspect that there is something in the water. A drug or hormone. You want your ass to be full again. Your prostate teased. You feel the madness of need throughout the rest of the night.**

Earl clenches his ass as he sits, toes curling in their plaster. He nods when he is ready to return to his position. Adam puts the ball gag back in and Earl slides his eyes shut, ready to make his Doms work for his next orgasm.

-

He is awoken by a slap across his balls. Through the pain, his character is surprised he had even fallen asleep.

“Ready for the conclusion of our test?” Adam asks, unlatching the cock cage. It may seem like hours have passed, though they’ve only just resumed.

Cecil moves around behind the poor prisoner, explaining that they’ll use the same anal hook. He lies, as the new one is larger and lubricated with a warming gel. The pair also conveniently forget to apply the same starter orgasm to make their turn the same. Earl is half hard from a night of stimulation, hormones, and fear. He does not begin with a blank slate as Cecil eases the hook in.

“I’ll fuck you with this, and we’ll see if those arms are less efficient than us being hands on,” he lilts. 

Earl swallows, his throat constricting as he shivers. He tries to relax against the invasion of his ass. His arms twist in his bindings as he imagines them gone. Adam stands in front of him with a stop watch. “Tick tock, pretty thing.”

Earl’s abs tighten. He summons the control necessary to withhold his mounting need. He knows how. His character will not let them claim his arms. He will triumph, as he deserves nothing less than freedom. He holds onto hope, defiantly staring down his aggressor as Cecil pumps the hook around his prostate.

Earl chokes on his sounds. His whines will only encourage their enjoyment.

When Adam glances down at the timepiece in his hand and raises a brow, Earl knows it is possible for him to win.

“Wow, you think you are indomitable,” purrs the man who had wooed him at the bar. Earl’s character hates this man. Teeth flash in a cocky grin. “Let me tell you about what inspires me, pretty thing. I’ve admired your flesh when it is motionless. When you dangled naked, ready to be a prop for our private gallery, I appreciated every moment of that. I now crave the chance to see you thrashing. Your meek little mewls will be excellent examples of the futile condition of humanity. I think of the precision tools I can use on you. You are mouldable. We can control your weight. Your height. We can make you something different. I’m going to put you in the yard, spending my afternoons sliding concrete up and down your skin so when it hardens, it is a copy of what you are underneath. Perhaps we’ll let your nipples out. Gold hoops connecting flesh through the stone. But your stomach will be under a shell. Your arms, or not your arms. A limbless bust, perhaps. You look like half of one with this block below you. You’ll breathe through air holes as I coat your head. Carve freckles under sightless eyes. Then, when you eventually breathe no more, I’ll fill those in. No point to feeding tubes. And no point to an exposed cock. I really considered having that, but ultimately...you’re my first specimen. I am sure I can find someone else to be better. You’re a learning curve and I respect that. I’ll slather wet stone over your penis and show it erect. You’ll be a display of bondage. And maybe...before you fade out, I’ll drill into the phallic member I’ve preserved. It will be delicate work: keeping the tools from shattering the stone shell while accessing the flesh. A good fountain needs a hose. You’ll always cum when it’s done.”

Earl can’t ignore the story. The promise. Adam is reciting pages that could have come from Earl’s notebook. It’s messed up. It’s horrifying. It’s hot and he is rocking back on the anal hook Cecil holds with thrusts he cannot prevent.

“Only my associate and I will know what hides inside our lovely masterpiece. Your last whimpers unnoticed as I fetch tubing for your replacement plumbing…”

Earl jerks and spasms as he cums. He may even have beat the timer though this orgasm is much more engaging than the last. Adam tsks as he looks at the watch. He is not beyond lying to get what he wants.

The test had never been fair.

Cecil extracts the hook carefully and Adam is immediately standing at eye level when Earl misses the question about whether he is okay. The ball gag is loosened and Earl’s tongue barely pushes it free. 

“Early…”

**You are Earl Harlan and you are safe.**

“I am...I...oh. Olive. Sorry. So…” whispers the ginger between pants. His eyes stare through Adam. “Olive. Ol…”

Together, the Doms slip Earl from his pose. The arm binders are removed with skilled hands. The ankles are unbound and the spreader bar removed while he is supported.

“Let’s get you washed up,” Cecil coaxes. “Can you eat? Will you drink?”

Earl hums, but his keepers will not be satisfied until he can demonstrate the act.

“Was good,” he sighs as his eyes droop. “Olive it...good.”

\--

The Voice coaxes Earl back long enough to eat a chocolate bar and finish a sports drink. Adam finds Carlos napping in the dark of his guest room. He runs a warm bath and rouses the Scientist to properly clean the fake concrete off. Earl joins them before Carlos is done and the two share a tub.

“I’m glad you invested in a big bath,” Cecil quietly conveys to their host as he listens to Carlos washing a dazed Earl’s legs. The pair are in the dim hallway.

“I’ve always wanted to upgrade the house,” Adam replies as he dries his hands. “Now I have reasons to. I’m happy to lend my property to your games.”

“Our games,” Cecil corrects.

Adam shrugs. “Well, it’s also insurance. See, you’re getting these lovely ideas from online fans. I was your first. At least, I was the first awkward fan to creep into your life, and I need to offer something more to set me apart and to keep my lovely investments going.”

Cecil snickers. “Are you scared that someone will replace you?”

Adam hums. “Maybe. Though I think that’s a fear everyone has. I have a body, and that can be taken. Earl’s fantasy demonstrated that easily. I have a house which replaces your playroom sometimes. I have an interest in dominating Earl. But Earl can write any antagonist into a scene and he’ll cum just as eagerly. I know we tout him as replaceable in our games, but he isn’t. I guess…I don’t know what I’m trying to say. Everything is immaterial. Even relationships.”

“You’ve been looking too much at art,” Cecil grins.

“Or, you’ve forgotten how quickly things change,” Adam replies with a light tease. Some seriousness. “We have a good thing going. _I_ have a good thing. I don’t know how I managed to get involved, but I think it’s valid for me to be wary of others encroaching in on this good thing. There is a reason we distrust interlopers. Sometimes they steal our hearts, like your Carlos did. Sometimes…”

“You are able to scare Earl into cumming, even when he’s doing so well at resisting,” Cecil reminds. “Who could be more dangerous than that?”

Adam reaches for the door handle, interested in confirming that everyone is where they should be. Safe. Together.

“I’d hate to find out, Cecil. I’d hate to find out.”


	24. Getting A Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cecil gets a submission. The Elf has a fan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer** : this chapter contains guro involving dismembered heads. Readers be advised.

Cecil stares at the screen. It is too early in the morning for his belly to grow cold. For his head to spin. He should drink the coffee at his side to warm him. To help him focus. He needs to go out soon to attend some press conferences. He doesn’t think he can stand. He wishes he had not opened his browser to see if his anonymous fan had replied.

He wishes his anonymous fan had not replied.

Cecil really should _not_ continue to read the file submission, but there is no one home to stop him. Earl is at work. Carlos is updating the seismographs he’s placed in the desert. Adam is far away in some state that someone’s certainly made up.

He wishes his anonymous fan had remained anonymous 

He wishes the story he reads did not sound so much like something Earl might write.

 

* * *

 

 

>  
> 
> A massive army of orcs surrounds a fort that the humans had given the elves in a shared agreement about protecting their borders. While relations are poor between the civilized races and the barbaric, cruel orcs, the siege had been unexpected. Unprecedented. Unwarranted.
> 
> And with all sieges, there are soon casualties. Worse still, there are prisoners.
> 
> The orcs punish their captives by lashing them to war machines. These catapults and siege engines double as frames of torture, slowly impaling the smaller warriors on devious points and props. During lulls in the battle, elves on the wall will hear the silence shattered by the ragged screams of abused companions, all to the cheers of distracted enemies. They are thus spurred to continue their attacks, using up their arrows to deal vengeance, or, more importantly, to bring merciful endings upon their kind.
> 
> Their most skilled archers would be put to task with ending the suffering. Each successive strike, though, has the orcs measuring their distance to make future shots more difficult. Further complicating these gestures is the elves’ natural resilience. They would survive acts that would destroy their human counterparts. Their own arrows often add to their pain, instead of end it.
> 
> Messenger birds are sent out, but none return with news of reinforcements. That this fort would be chosen by the orcs makes no sense. It is one of many along the border between forest and rocky wastes. The orcs’ behaviour is highly unusual. They make no demands. They are unphased by their losses. They seem in no hurry to overcome the walls. They take their rushes at random times before slipping away with the unlucky few caught repairing the wall, collecting the undamaged used spears and arrows, or pulled from the heights by rope.
> 
> Then the nights come.
> 
> Followed by the day. The sun leaves the wretched army hiding in the shelter of their tents. And raised on posts in the middle grounds of the battlefield are the prisoners that had entertained the orcs all night.
> 
> Some still live, twitching as their impaled bodies bleed slowly from within. Their mouths lashed wide with disgusting things gagging them. Their cocks pulled upwards with wire or penetrated with jagged rods. Their bodies bruised, burned or cut.
> 
> Of course that spurs brave members to slip out to retrieve them. Sometimes they succeed, getting the poor elves back inside to apply impressive medical skills. The traumatized elves then might communicate the horrors experienced by the other side. Other rescues are not fortunate, with trap doors and hidden ditches concealing orcs who are ready for fresh meat.
> 
> The elves are demoralizing fast. They cannot allow this to continue. In private, one particular member of the tower’s soldier’s cooks up a plan. He had managed a few retrievals of those prisoners mockingly displayed. He had made several deadly shots with his bow. He had personally cut down every orc that had challenged him. He knows it is not enough.
> 
> The elf with the scarlet hair had begun gathering some of the resources the humans had stocked the tower with, experimenting briefly with several tools that the elves had no use for until he understood their effect. His people have to leave. Those who could not be saved have to be put out of their misery. And as many orcs as possible have to die.
> 
> His has a strategy never undertaken by a person of his race before, but the red-haired soldier knows traditional methods would not work. He briefs his commanders and finds them desperate for an end to this madness. They agree without contest. Being the fastest, and most confident of his plan, he volunteers for the most dangerous part. He is valiant in this, harbouring no doubts that he will not return. 
> 
> Given magic to shroud him, a commodity that has become valuable since the start of the siege, the scarlet elf slips across the forest where it hides the enemy. The orcs are more heavily concentrated along the wastes, though they guard the woods to prevent a retreat. Still, the forest is the elves’ domain and the ginger has no trouble setting up the human incendiaries in critical locations. When they go off, a path will be made and his people will escape. 
> 
> He suppresses his urge to use his invisibility to butcher the orcs so available to him. Secrecy is the only way he will make the most of this plan. His years of experience guide him as he moves along their lines to the more populated and guarded camps. When the explosives go, many of his people will be ready to charge in. They will kill who they can. They will rescue who they may. The scarlet elf leaves more magic and bombs under the prisoners he does not think he can save. It is a painful choice, harder still when he cannot warn them.
> 
> The leaders of the camp, though, will also have no warnings. He approaches their structures with additional care. The walls of those tents are lined in leather and other tanned skins. He shudders at one corner marked in a holy symbol of his people. It could only have come from a tattoo.
> 
> He waits at the back entrance of the tent, listening to the guttural grunts of someone inside. When the distraction happens, he will use the surprise to plant the last of his magics where they will best serve. And then, he will fall into the chaos and take as many of them with him as he can. Then, his last gifts will go off when they least expect it. When their best amass, the magic will trigger the final explosive. It had been a difficult spell to arrange, but now it just needs to be placed. The scarlet elf knows he is good enough to pull through.
> 
> In the distance, something booms. Like thunder, it barely rattles the posts holding up the skin of his people. The plan is in motion. He rounds a corner and stops dead in his tracks.
> 
> There is a man.
> 
> Several things are wrong with this picture. Men are not allied with the orcs. Nor would orcs put up with one if he were alone. This man is certainly alone. He also lacks eyes.
> 
> His eyes may have been taken from him by the violent orcs. That would make sense, though he stands unfettered. Freely loitering in the lane between two tents and looking unharmed in any other sense of the word. 
> 
> Furthermore, the man lacks sight but the elf feels as if he has been seen. He is rigid. He is breathless, making no sound at all. Still, the stranger looks at him. Then grins, raising a single finger to his lips before turning away.
> 
> In all of the scenarios, the elf had not imagined this. He hesitates, uncertain as to whether he should warn the person of the danger. Or if he should kill the man, in case he warns the others. In the end, as a series of crackling roars rip through the air, closer still, he chooses to move on. The final tent is where their best weapons are stored. Their food and their records. It is the last place orc leaders meet. It is where he will make his stand.
> 
> Noise rises around him as the lesser tents spring to life. Few are allowed where the elf is. His lanes are dusty. Dry, where other lines are muddied, full of filth and more chance encounters. After he’s delivered the last of his charmed traps, he moves to the largest tent. The camp shakes as the latest of the magical enchantments go off. He stumbles, but gracefully. Not a skill the orcs possess, sounding so alarmed. Confused.
> 
> He slips through the final flap and finds himself confused, too.
> 
> The tent is not at all what it should be.
> 
> It is lined with torture devices. There are no prisoners, though. Just heads. They drape around the walls like decorations, hung with string through their ears. Mouths are open, obviously used for the orcs’ twisted purposes.
> 
> Despite the grotesque display, the space is clean. Blood does not spatter the floors or the archaic chairs and mounts and cages. The elf thinks frantically of what this could mean, as he knows what this tent should be.
> 
> Then someone touches him. “I’m glad you found this. It’s for you, after all.” 
> 
> He is trained, and he cannot understand why it takes him a second after the statement to whirl away from the hand and bring his weapon up. It is the eyeless human, who grins with wide hospitality. The elf’s blade drops from his hand and he cannot say why.
> 
> His stomach drops with the knife. His legs feel weak.
> 
> “This whole siege was for you,” continues the man with fondness. “Welcome home.”
> 
> With a mouth that is impossibly dry, the elf only masters a whimper. It sounds alien even to his own ears. The human advances causally and liquid fear ignites in the elf’s core. He can’t step away as a hand curls around him, bunching in his hair at the back of his scalp.
> 
> Then he manages to find a word. A threat without context. “Their leaders are going to die.”
> 
> “I know,” purrs the man. “I watched you with those traps. You’re very good. They’ll withdraw tomorrow. No more violence. And you will come with me, your people thinking you died a hero. You and I will know the truth, though.”
> 
> “My...my people…”
> 
> “Will have nothing else to worry about,” the man promises sweetly.
> 
> The elf’s heart echoes strangely in his ears. He wants to run but the grip has his red strands firmly. He raises his arms as his shoulders hunch. His spine cowers. He fails at resisting. There is weakness and he cannot explain this reaction. His whole body screams to escape.
> 
> “Kneel,” the stranger commands in a kind tone.
> 
> The elf hiccups on a sob as his legs obey. Knees unhinge, happy to find the ground. He peers up wildly afraid, seeking explanation for his body’s betrayal.
> 
> The human hums, using his other hand to thread fingers through the hair. “You’ll be more vocal when we leave this place and start to head home, won’t you?” He waits patiently for an answer, smiling toothily when the elf nods his head. 
> 
> “Good,” coos the man. “I’m going to slowly strip you down, now. And you’re going to let me. You can cry. That’s only fair. I understand that this is a lot for you to take in. A whole siege just for you. You’ve never realized just how special you were, did you? There’ll be time to think about that on the journey. I’ve got some special things to outfit you with before we seal you away in a special box.”
> 
> Numb, the elf nods his head, dropping it as the human moves closer. He does exactly has he promises, working meticulously on removing the leather armour. He makes time to praise it. “You really must be talented to have such decorated padding.”
> 
> The hand that strokes along his cheek smears warm tears. The elf quivers, breathing heavily. They are a surreal pair as smoke fills the air and shouts bellow and curse. The flap of the tent has not closed completely and the few orcs that march by can see in. None intervene, casting momentary glances before they move onto their way. 
> 
> By then, a braided coil is unraveled from the elf’s sleeve. He had earned it for exemplary services. It is dropped to the ground. His rich, thin robe that drapes his shoulders is pushed down, revealing freckled skin. A collarbone uncovers. The elf swallows, flushing. He is so close to this other. He could kill him, if he wishes. It is not an act his muscles will allow, though. He tries to will his mind to rebel, but his nerves ignite only to spark feelings towards his core. His groin. He hardens under his pants and it is only a matter of time before that is discovered.
> 
> The man leans in, pressing lips to the elf’s neck. The smile is felt. Teeth graze against his skin. The elf is suffocating. “Did you not hear my call?”
> 
> Each syllable could turn into a bite. His oppressor cranes his head to regard their surroundings. “Look at those heads. They didn’t have to die if you had answered my summoning at the beginning. I’m sure they’ll say as much as I have you fuck them. You’re aroused right now. In their presence, you are aroused.”
> 
> “No,” the elf gasps. He flushes. He shakes, contained in his skin. Unable to command his heart to slow. He feels sick at the suggestion. He would never desecrate his kind. Even more, he should leave. He does not know what this man is talking about. There has never been a call to answer.
> 
> “You’ll have time to meet every one of them. I will stretch you out on these tools of war and have you cumming in all of these heads while you ride me. Oh, those pretty sounds you’re making now...I can make them sweeter. Longer.” 
> 
> “Why?” the elf keens.
> 
> “Because you selfishly avoided your destiny for so long,” coos the human. He pulls free the elf’s shirt, leaving the elf in only his leggings and sandals. “I do forgive you. Responsibilities are daunting, are they not? And you are here now, so I’m sure you’ll make up for my time very quickly, yes? Your kinsmen may not feel the same, but they are without a voice, unlike I. They are cold, and I am warm.”
> 
> How much the elf would love to feel the warmth of this man’s blood on his blade. He cannot react, his frame shaking as the human commands him to stand. The rest of his clothes are peeled off, the elf helping when he is told to lift his legs. His own knife cuts the supporting corners of his undergarments, rendering him completely bare. He wants his fists to fly.
> 
> “Let us outfit you with some accessories, shall we?” chirps the man, ignoring his partner’s self-loathing and desperation. “I know your dimensions by heart. Spread your legs, please?”
> 
> The elf complies, weeping as he hugs himself. His arms will not stop the stranger who fondles him. The touch is impossibly perfect. 
> 
> “Is that good?”
> 
> Snot crowds his nose as the elf sniffles and nods, squeezing his eyes shut in humiliation. His hips quiver, pulling him towards that touch. Encouraging it.
> 
> “I want you to think of me when you’re locked away. When I’m absent. I want my touch to be the only one you crave.”
> 
> Then the man releases the elf and by his whine, the elf wonders if this is not already true. He is leaking already. He’s never felt this way before. His teeth gnaw into his lip and his erection brushes against his belly with each of his trembles. 
> 
> The man is back in seconds, with a cruel, archaic cage. “Hold still, my pretty thing.”
> 
> The elf warbles as the item is upheld for him to view. “Please…” he begs, blubbering.
> 
> “You like it? Good, I knew it would work,” the man titters. He kneels, now so temptingly at a disadvantage to the warrior. And still, the elf cannot defend himself as he is stroked by glorious fingers into an almost complete climax. He tilts his head as his eyes loll. As his breath staggers and his skin prickles with feeling. Then, with reverence, the stranger slips the cock cage over the erection. There is a thin metal rod at the tip that feeds into the slit with very little resistance. The elf cries out at the invasion before the metal is locked into place under his testicles. He is kept firmly hard, and yet the sides remain open for further abuse.
> 
> “Thank me,” commands the human.
> 
> “Th...thank you,” the elf babbles.
> 
> “Thank you...what?”
> 
> “M...master.”
> 
> The answer is rewarded with a pat on his cheek. The human’s hand smells of the elf’s sweat and need. He then curves his finger under the chin, indicating the elf should turn. He does, with the cock cage rattling from the motion. Each step makes the elf ache more impossibly than the last. A large crate sits in the corner, thick with wooden slats. It is decorated and lacquered. When they approach it, the elf is made to wait as his keeper pushes the lid open. Inside are countless wicked toys. Hooks and tips for pikes. Several have crooked shapes, while others rival the girth of orcs and other beasts.
> 
> The man chooses one with deliberation. He then grins brightly at the elf. “Bend over this other crate, pet.”
> 
> The elf warbles, but obeys nonetheless. Each action is natural. There is a great disconnect between his mind and his body. He knows what is coming. He cannot stop himself from allowing it to happen. At best, he can peer over his shoulder and try to resist his urges to plead and beg. 
> 
> The man is without any cares in the world, applying a vial of liquid to the carved phallic creation he has chosen. His slick fingers then stroke the unhappy hole beneath the elf. The warmth and perfection of that touch provokes a shameful shiver. Then, the man retracts his connection, replacing it with a ribbed, firm implement. It is eased in with a hot squelch that suddenly leaves the elf barking out a strangled cry.
> 
> “This is dragon’s balm. It will find your prostate. Do elves have a word for that? It will inflame it and you’ll long for contact. If you rock back against your new toy, it will feel so much better. I promise.” 
> 
> The elf drags his nails into the wood, shaking his head side to side. He is being stretched, his insides searing and itching. He cannot will his hands into flailing behind him. Into pulling free the large object that stabs into him. The noises he makes are expressive, but inarticulate.
> 
> “Hmmmm,” muses the man as he caresses the elf’s ass. “Maybe you just need to grow used to the balm.” 
> 
> Suddenly, the same thick solution oozes over the open slits of the cock cage. 
> 
> The elf howls, blinded by the immediate fire. He has never been the sort to seek mercy. He has led countless missions against orcs and trolls and even an ogre. He’s bested human slavers and triumphed over death and pain so often that he had never feared torture. Not like this. He slams his knees into the crate that is meticulously carved. He feels his penis ablaze, swollen and impaled by metal.
> 
> He feels his voice grate as he begs. “M...mercy. Please…”
> 
> “This is mercy,” simpers the other. “I have granted for you your destiny.”
> 
> The elf’s leg is scooped up and he stumbles, unable to support himself. His arm scrapes against the ledge of the wood that had held him. The skin is rubbed raw and it is nothing compared to the fire of the balm. The tumble has him tensing, his ass igniting as he tightens around the thing that stretches him.
> 
> “You are mine,” he is told as he flops uselessly on the floor. His ass and cock are boiling. He needs the pressure gone, or more pressure, yet all his captor does is rope his ankles together without hurry. “I do love the song of your desperation. Now give me your wrists.”
> 
> As before, the elf cannot help but comply. He sobs as his arms are bound behind him. Then, the lashings of his ankles are strung to his wrists. He lies sideways, his cock jutting out and bright red inside its prison. If he keeps his knees together, his ass is manageable. The man rises, and returns with a spreader bar. It provokes the most pitiful of keens as the elf realizes that even his minor adjustments for comfort will be for nothing. 
> 
> “You are smarter than that,” scolds the man with some amusement. “I told you that only my hands should give you perfection. But you won’t feel them for a while.”
> 
> The tent flaps split and the elf thanks his gods for the orcs that interrupt the man. They will know he is the elf who has damned their efforts. They will kill him and the human. All of this will stop.
> 
> The brutish figures come at attention before the sightless man. Teeth flash. “Help me lift him into here.”
> 
> The elf moans as another hope is dashed.
> 
> The chest that he had braced against is tapped and the pair jump into action. One hefts the elf up by the knots binding his limbs together. He weighs nearly nothing to the creature, and he cries out as his body is jostled. As he is made to contort around the insertion. 
> 
> The other opens the chest and the elf’s eyes widen. It is full of heads. They are elves, some that the ginger recognizes. Their mouths flop open as if their jaws have been broken. Their eyes glassy with empty stares. Their long hair has started to tangle around one another’s. Their faces pale, yet unrotten. They smell of citrus and spices. Some witchcraft keeps them from rotting.
> 
> “This is your transport,” he is told by the sprightly figure who oversees the orc pushing the body parts about. “Ah, save that one with the sharp teeth. I think they’ll be perfect for our guest’s nipples. And the one that could deep throat your leader, ah...yes, I know he is now dead. It is this one’s fault. I think it fitting he have her taking in the whole of his cock, cage and all. Do you agree?”
> 
> The orcs grunt, somewhat distracted with their work to let more than wry twitches of their lips show. The elf, though, gives a horrified wail when he understands what is about to happen. Now restrained, he feels his muscles allowed to squirm and jerk. The actions are pointless.
> 
> “Please,” he mewls. “Anything else. Gods…”
> 
> “Your gods kept you from your rightful place,” tuts the man. “Put him in.”
> 
> The elf writhes against his bonds but it does not slow the orc who lays him inside the crate. The layer of heads leave him unevenly sprawled. He is left face to face with one of the slack-jawed warriors lost in the siege. The elf recognizes this one. She had been faster than him, but also quick with compassionate words. He had not even known she was missing.
> 
> The orcs each pick designated heads that have been set aside. The eyeless man stands back, still watching attentive, somehow, as dead teeth are pressed over the elf’s pink flesh. Leather straps coil around their skulls to keep the unhinged jaws shut. The pinch is enough to pierce into the involuntarily hard nubs. If he thrashes, he might cut himself on the sharp teeth.
> 
> It hurts, and in a horribly sickening way, he finds the pain sending jolts of electricity to his groin. To his ass. He wheezes and seethes as his mind tries to comprehend the violation of his people’s dignity. How these elves were kept and killed in such a way, to sit in a box waiting for him. For this. He is going mad. 
> 
> The orcs cock their brows, entertained. They step back in deference to the man, who indicates they continue with the female warrior he had been speaking of. Her hair is seized by one of the fat fists of the orc. Her head is lifted and she lands in a beefy palm that pulls on her chin as it pulls her hair. This widens the lips, and she is arranged before the elf, slowly swallowing the cage that juts out from his body. He cannot see past the two skulls against his chest, but he feels where the metal meets the back of the cadaver’s throat.
> 
> “Only the best,” the man coos as the elf heaves and finds he cannot vomit. His hips are helplessly twitching despite his desperate efforts. It makes the elves attached to him nod. “I only wanted the best, which you are. And it took my best efforts to gain you. Remember, think of _me_. Of how only _my_ touch will relieve you. I’ll be in touch soon, sweet thing.”
> 
> An orc grasps the lid, but hesitates before shutting the elf into a terrible darkness. “No gag for the whiner?”
> 
> “This one cost us dearly,” agrees the other in his thick language. “We have other preserved pieces of their snooty soldiers. They will silence his mouth nicely.”
> 
> “The cost is none of your concern,” hums the man. “And I am tempted, yet I do like to hear the hollow screams. Don’t you?”
> 
> A wink is given to the elf to accompany a blown kiss. The sightless eyes bore into the elf long after the top is shut and a lock is applied. In the claustrophobic space, each shift reminds the elf of what he shares space with. His ass and his cock need him to pump his hips. He loathes to disturb the poor heads attached to him. Every twitch grinds teeth into his flesh. A dry tongue sometimes connects with his member as it presses against its metal bondage.
> 
> Even at his most disciplined, the box being lifted and jostled shakes everything around. It is not gently rocked. He bellows. He weeps. He does indeed miss his master. He knows not to dream of rescue, as he is already dead to his people.
> 
> Always beside the crate, the man takes his prize far away. He is smiling.
> 
> Like his God.
> 
>  

 

* * *

 

 

 

_Your last update was a piece of art! Though it was a long time in coming. I figure you must be busy. I don’t want to nag but many subs and partners can sure make things complicated. Many hands can make light work, sometimes one special someone can provide all the light you’ll ever need. I hope that makes sense. Anyhow, as you’re busy with other things and people, perhaps you’ll welcome a submission. I wrote it myself and tried very hard to get into your elf’s head…see you real soon. xoxo_


	25. Knife to Meet You (Won't You Guess My Name?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam and Earl make the best blade plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer** : This chapter contains suggested violence/death and implied gore/humiliation and could be triggering to anyone who has been held up/mugged before. Reader discretion is advised.

Adam is already waiting for the knock at the door. When he answers -- throwing three bolts and knocking free a chain -- it is to a ginger with a kit strung over his shoulder. The man on the stoop nasally asks, “can Adam come out to play?”

The question is not appropriate, as Earl is clearly here to stay. Not to take the brunet away. Still, in the twenty minutes since the phone call, Adam’s thought of how this is going to go. He opens the door wider and as his guest starts to step in, Adam pulls him by the shirtfront. 

Earl hesitates, not sure if he should resist or move with it. He decides to play along, fluidly tumbling inside and not expecting his assailant to take his place. When Adam lets go of the cloth connecting him to Earl, it is only so he can take up the door handle. He steps off the porch and outside. He shuts the door.

He counts a few seconds.

Then Adam knocks.

Another second passes, likely with the Scoutmaster inside trying to decide on what he is expected to do. They have only spoken over the phone about him spending the night. About how Cecil says he needs space and how Carlos had quietly offered to suss the reason out.

Adam starts to knock again. Before his knuckles can brush the door, the handle turns. Earl starts to ask who it is and Adam pushes his way in. He flashes his metal training knife between them, letting the mismatched eyes focus on it long enough to recognize the harmless prop. Then, faster than Earl pretends to be, Adam tips the blade under the throat of the homeowner he is assailing.

“Get in and be silent,” he hisses.

Naturally, the freckled man can only obey.

\--

“So...what do you want to do?”

Earl is pinned on the floor, fingers laced behind his head as Adam kneels over him. They haven’t gotten very far. To the kitchen with one failed attempt at escaping and a few imagined lacerations. Adam realizes, once he’s pinned Earl, that he had hoped the scenario would have come more naturally. Their first solo time had been knifeplay in the desert. Now, he wonders if Earl would get bored a repeat of a similar thing. Perhaps the guy wants to eat supper first. Maybe he had had a new scene and wanted to share.

Adam’s pretty rude of a host.

Or an uninvited guest.

Earl’s voice sounds strange against the floor. “This is good. Though I think I have some ideas on how to be more...dramatic? Did you want me to cry?”

Adam stalls. “Uh, well…” Did he? “I have absolutely no idea, actually. You usually do defiant.”

A half grin is spotted. “I do like defiant.”

“And I like when I can chip away at that smug attitude of yours. It’s best when you are made to learn your place.”

Earl’s ears turn pink. “Then...why not both? I’m here all night and I’m a little in the mood for helpless, for some reason. We could play this out, maybe from the beginning. And after we eat and doze or whatever, we could do something else. Breaking in a soldier? I was reading up again on medieval rules of war.”

Adam loses his own smirk. “I’m not like Cecil with the world building.”

“Didn’t ask you to be,” Earl snorts. “While the Voice is pretty convincing, I’m sure our imaginations could use a workout.”

“Well then, Mr. Harlan. If you want to start supper, I’ll go upstairs and get some things. Meet you at the front door in half an hour?”

“How’s your stock of olives?” Earl huffs, feeling Adam dismount. His arousal is only starting.

\--

Earl whips up a lasagne. Nutritious, legal, and perfect for slow baking while _other_ things get accomplished. He had used the same recipe from when Cecil and Adam had played with him as the human pup. God, how long ago was that?

He slides the pan into Adam’s stove and sets the heat, cleaning up as he thinks about time. About them. He’s all for solo nights with Adam, though this had been unplanned. Cecil had called Earl on his cell as his day shift had wrapped up.

Was Earl safe? Could he come home?

As it had upset Cecil when Earl asked for details, he had promised to return promptly and arrived only to meet Carlos on the step. The Scientist had looked distracted, claiming he didn’t know what had upset their boyfriend, but he had also gotten a similar call. The mystery had interrupted...well, work. Yes. _Work_. Cecil had since been holed up in his office, on the phone with the Sheriff. As far as the Scientist could tell, something dangerous had happened that had not made it to the news. In the waning warmth of the sun, Earl had felt some disappointment. He wanted to play, feeling it acutely in that moment. And now those needs would have to wait. Carlos’ socked toes had scrunched in his sandals and his fingers scratched at his coat pockets. Earl thought the other had smelled really good, though he could not say it without thinking it might be answered...negatively? Earl could not look the other in the eye. He inspected the lawn instead, head bowed and lips sucking under teeth…

“Would it be weird if I didn’t want to talk about it?” Cecil had asked. “I just...not right now.”

And no. Neither of his boyfriends would push the topic, though they were concerned. Any number of events could have caused it. Cecil apologized profusely for the panicked calls, though Earl had been nearly complete with his shift. And Carlos had murmured about how his work had been very engaging but the interruption had been welcomed. So welcomed.

Earl had started to suggest that they unwind in the basement. He had really felt like unwinding. Unwinding and unwinding. But Cecil had spoken first, by only a moment. He wanted a quiet night. Mundane. With laptops being buried deep in the yard after dark, and bloodstone rituals being repeated. They really didn’t do that enough.

Earl could concede the point. They really had started to slack in those chores with life, and work, and play getting in the way. Still, Cecil’s answers had not been the ones that Earl had hoped to hear.

The timely text from Adam announcing his return to Night Vale had been perfect. An opportunity to suggest a group shared discussion. Maybe make plans. Carlos had frowned at the trucker’s name. Cecil had looked hard at Earl. “Maybe you should spend the night with him.”

Earl felt as if he were missing something. Some clue. A hint. He felt like he could sprint to the truck driver’s house. That, or kneel and…

**“Call him.”**

And now Earl has a lasagne going, and a night ahead of him where he can be submissive. And he has questions that he can’t begin to word as he pretends to live alone in this house that isn’t his. Questions he can thankfully ignore when a pounding comes from the front door.

The bangs are a coded message asking for safewords. And Earl unties his apron as he approaches, letting his character be tired after a long day’s work. Curious at who would be calling at this hour. Only minorly, though. He is not Earl Harlan. He is not strong and wary, especially after a strange day. He is fragile and ignorant. Unwitting. And soon, he is going to fold under Adam. Played with and used.

He’s very glad the knock asks the question it does, for he thinks that if he opens the door, someone _else_ could be standing there, ready to capitalize on the resource Earl’s becoming. He doesn’t know _why_ he considers the possibility of Kevin. He knows such a person would never use safewords. Unless it were a trap...

“It’s Adam,” Earl breathes to himself. But still, he can’t fall into character. Not yet. He uses the bolt, clicking it unlocked and locked. A code, again. It’s translation is ‘ _chartreuse_.’

“Early?”

The muffled plea is enough. The concern melts through the barrier and leaves the ginger feeling more secure than...well, than anything else had this day. He had not realized just how insecure he had been feeling. His fingers splay on the surface of the door where he leans into it. He smiles.

He is Earl Harlan and he _is_ safe.

Then, he clicks the rest of the locks open. Three deliberately long attempts to slide the chain free. Some short clicks of the remaining bolts. He has _olive_ them free. He is someone else, foolishly letting in the unknown.

Whatever comes next, he deserves it.

\--

The squeak he lets loose as he is barreled into is high pitched. He brings his arms up as he gives ground. And his assailant, masked and made larger by the padded, protective clothing, takes that ground. Takes other things, like Earl’s wrists which foolishly rise to protect his head. They no longer protect his torso, with its vulnerable soft spots. By the time the two collide with the wall, Earl is sucking in his gut as he feels the press of a blade. Only the cotton of his shirt shields him.

“Oh God…”

A heavy chuckle breathes over him as one gloved hand takes both of Earl’s wrists and pins them above him. The knife rests under his sternum, shifting with the staggered breathing. Earl lets his eyes droop down, afraid to move his head but unable to look away from the threat about to carve into him. His character has never seen blades used outside of the kitchen. He can’t match the eyes that appraise him. Not directly.

“Thanks for letting me in,” purrs the stranger. It is not a voice Earl’s character can place.

“I’ll...I’ll give you anything. Anything you want. Please…” Earl stammers. “I have a boyfriend. Please don’t hurt me.”

The gloves are leather and they squeeze over Earl’s wrists. They creak around the knife handle as the assailant leans in. The shift leaves Adam available for several counter attacks. Earl could twist right or left, for example. The knife would slip as Adam’s weight is pulled towards the wall. It might graze the ginger, but Earl would live. These are not things Earl’s character knows. The knife paralyzes him. Like drivers whose headlights have just picked up a time-traveling deer, he is frozen.

“A boyfriend?” the masked man ominously coos. “Well, how unfortunate. I cannot bring myself to rob you now.”

Earl inhales, hopeful. “You won’t?”

“I’ll rob _him_ instead, of his most prized possession.” The knife presses in, piercing the shirt with its point. Then, it slips down. Slowly.

Earl throws his head back and warbles high in his throat. He closes his eyes and sucks in as the only thing covering his torso is flayed. The knife stops at the thick denim of his jeans. A small trail of red hair is visible, climbing in thin patches to Earl’s belly. The intruder shifts the knife back up, daintily tracing the path of those hairs to the button. It circles the naval, caressing dead skin.

“Please, please don’t…” Earl sobs. His eyes clench as he waits for the push. The knife will cut into him and warmth will spill out. He imagines that leather hand driving in to heat that should never be explored. Under ribs, the knife tearing as disturbed organs spill free around his killer’s hand.

Adam leans his mouth close to Earl’s chin, hissing, “you will do exactly as I say and maybe I’ll let you see your precious boyfriend again. Do you understand?”

Shivering, Earl nods blindly. Anything. He’d do anything.

“You will turn around and place your hands on the wall over your head. If you try anything stupid, I will gut you like a pig.”

“No, I won’t, I won’t…” Earl babbles.

When the leather gloves lessen their hold, Earl eagerly moves to show his obedience. His good-will and cooperation. He would not dare rebel, more sheeplike in his urge to avoid the fate of a butchered pig. He braces on the hallway wall, head down. The entire time, the knife stays connected to him. First sliding out of his belly button, and then tracing gently on skin with each inch Earl turns until it circles half of him, resting over his kidney at his back.

“Now what should I do?” Earl whispers, as an extra show of compliance.

“Now,” drips the voice behind him. “You stand very still.”

The knife lifts and that lack of contact is terrifying. Earl stiffens as he waits. An arm slips around his waist and the weapon reappears, cradled against Earl’s belly again. His assailant is very close, looped around him. “I’m going to undo your jeans.”

“Wh...why?” Earl asks.

Fingers pull at the front of Earl’s pants, and the knife drops in the intimate gap this creates. “Are you questioning me?”

The warning is suddenly harsh. Cruel. Earl shakes his head, pushing his hips out to avoid the implied threat. It only bumps him against the other’s body. “No. No...I’m...I’m sorry.”

“I want to see if you’re excited,” the assailant answers anyhow.

“Please, I’m not…”

“ _Shut up_.”

The command comes with the flick of the knife. It grazes a layer of skin, shaving only enough to burn. The knife is expertly handled and Earl imagines the rubbed flesh starting to seep. He instantly clamps his lips closed, though his jaw trembles. He’s afraid. It isn’t just about his life, or the pain. He’s afraid of what will happen when it is revealed that he is indeed aroused.

Earl’s character doesn’t know what to make of this, but the shame is overwhelming.

The masked man keeps the knife resting between his wrist and Earl’s belly as his gloved fingers share the duty of unbuttoning the jeans. Sliding them down. Even then, the knife is touching skin at all times. A skill the man is comfortable multitasking with. It finally rests against the bone of Earl’s hip. How it could carve into the thin skin and make knicks in the bone. The piercing pain as Earl screams and writhes, somehow unable to escape the whittling blade…

His pants bunch at his knees and with such thoughts spurring him, Earl only fuels his erection further. His cock presses against the briefs he’s borrowed from Carlos. Those briefs are fondled by the intruder’s free hand.

Earl keens as he starts to thrust against the ministrations. His skin flushes.

“What a slut you are,” mocks a voice by Earl’s neck. The wet words are followed by teeth on his skin. At some point, the other has lifted his mask. Earl knows not to look. If he can identify the man, he will be killed. “Does your boyfriend know you’re such a slut?”

“No,” Earl sniffs, eyes stinging as his character weeps. “No I’m not…”

The other bites, deep enough to leave marks. He growls, “I said you should be silent.”

Earl sobs as quietly as he can, shaking as he struggles not to fuck the other’s hand any further. The knife vanishes again, frighteningly capable of being anywhere as the ginger trembles. He feels his captor pinching at the cloth over his cock. It tugs at the covering, letting the tip of Earl’s penis free.

Then all hands are off of Earl and he starts to wonder if he has a chance. Until he hears a belt being unclasped. “Spread your legs, you ginger whore.”

Earl obeys without hesitation, his pretend persona wanting to believe that this will be over soon. That it will be okay. Even now, the Scoutmaster sees a dozen escapes, though his character is not trained to realize them.

“Now,” the voice changes. Softer. “You said you’d give me anything?”

Breathing in, Earl nods. “Please let me live. I’ll give you olive the things I have…”

The rough response proves that the masked man is back. And not kind. “Then I’m going to have your ass, little pig. Reach down with your left hand and peel your briefs down.

Earl’s character does hesitate now. His left hand moves slowly. It is not steady as he takes the corner of his underwear and tries to lower it with a single hand. It requires a roll of hips. He feels the drag of it on the length of his member.

“Lick your fingers, strumpet.”

Earl chokes on a sound, remembering in time to keep from speaking. He lifts his hand to his mouth.

_“Look at me.”_

He freezes. He knows the mask is not on. He knows he shouldn’t look.

The belt that the other must have been wearing smacks suddenly against Earl’s exposed thigh, just above the knee and the denim. The leather stings and Earl cries out, buckling against the wall from the blow. He peers back over his shoulder, aware of how unflattering his pose is. His eyes are wide. His fingers dangle from his lips and his ass juts out as his legs try to stay open while tangled in briefs and jeans.

His cock bobs under him, free and dripping pre.

The other man is Adam. His mask is loose, though sweat and grime glints on his face. He must have spent the time when Earl had been cooking to force his stubble to grow. An old badge that they had abused when they were young. Not even real teenagers, yet. Creating uneven facial hair is a skill few men have no need for.

It gives Adam an animalistic look, though. Something predatory. Uncouth. Suited for his character. And teeth gleam as the ginger realizes that he would never have gotten mercy from this figure.

“You’re going to prepare yourself and if you don’t do a good job, it’s going to be a bad time for you. I’m going to watch you suck on those fingers and then stretch your hole, and you’re going to make it good. Because if you don’t entertain me, slut, I’m going to have to entertain myself. You can choose between having a bit of a good time before I slide my favourite toy across your throat. Or, you are going to have bits of you carved off while I fuck all the new holes I make.”

Adam stares hard at Earl. And then he winks with one eye.

Earl’s mouth is dry. His cock is throbbing. He finds it hard to focus as he imagines every possibility. Of being fucked while each thrust causes the motion that saws off his testicles. As his nipples are shaved and he is made to lick the blade clean each time. As his hand is locked to the wall with that knife while the belt cauterizes deep wounds on his lower body. How he will be played with until his insides are cold, his back painted in all the names this creature can think of calling him.

He sees the image shift as Adam starts to say something. Not command or demand things, but ask.

Then Earl winks back, plunging his fingers into his mouth and sucking them with a moan more excited than terrified.

If he does not prepare his ass well, the ensuing fuck may ensure they stop their night with only one scenario. He allows himself to look horrified as he takes his fingers, slick with generous spit, and starts to push one inside of him. He tries to use his eyes to express how much he wants to survive. And every second that he fails to move this rugged stranger, he fights the very real urge to touch his arousal and climax.

Perhaps Adam catches that, as he pulls his own hard cock free and orders Earl back against the wall. Lube from Adam’s back pocket is applied as Earl braces. He pretends there is none of the lubrication. The other’s arm loops around and snags Earl’s cock again and Adam lines them up. “Early, you can come when you want. But pretend that if you do before me, I’m going to start with those nipples. Pull them out with my one hand while you watch me drag out the inevitable torture with the other. Touching the knife to the sensitive nub that I pull. Then the laziest of drags. You would likely thrash and finish the job yourself. That if I tire of your screams, your mouth will have my blade on it, punishing your tongue while I press my knee into your…”

He clenches his hand around Earl’s cock just as he pushes in. It’s enough to topple Earl over, who cries out as he paints the wall.

Not yet with his blood. Not yet.

\--

They have lasagne on the couch. They doze. When the constellations creep a few hours over the sky, and half the mysterious lights wink out, Earl rolls over and tugs on Adam’s new beard. “Part two?”

“Can you go again?” grunts the other. “If you don’t want to…”

“I understand if _you_ don’t have it in you to take on an opponent who isn’t going to cow under you…” Earl teases in challenge.

“It’s war, Harlan. It’s war…”

\--

The siege was a long and arduous ordeal with no end in sight for the people of the fort. It was because of this that the Prince finally agreed to open the front gates, allowing the enemy inside of the fortress so he could make his formal surrender. He washed and dressed himself in his finest armor of silver and green, stepping out of the main building, flanked by his most trusted soldiers.

The leader of the enemy smiled at him knowingly, hands on his hips as the redhead approached. “Took you long enough to come down here,” he snorted.

Earl shot the oaf a look, scowling as he removed his gauntlets. He handed them over, as it was tradition. “Insult me all you like. I’ve officially surrendered to you and now you must follow the rules of this exchange accordingly,” he said. “I expect proper treatment for myself and my men and…”

“Kill them.”

The Prince’s eyes widened in disbelief at the sound of swords being drawn, unable to do anything else as all of his men were put down without so much as a second of hesitation. “You..!”

“Grab him and remove that armor. We can melt it down later.”

The Prince lashed out as best as he could when he was surrounded, trembling in rage as he punched and kicked, trying to fight them off. However, he was one unarmed man against an armed force of ten. His wrists were soon grabbed, the leather holding his armor together torn in the enemy’s efforts to strip him down to his underclothes. “Bastard! When my family hears about this..!”

“You think anyone will care?” Their leader countered, smiling as he tilted his head to the side, admiring the other’s body.

“If you wish to receive payments for my release…”

“Payments?” the other interrupted. He raised an eyebrow, his grin becoming toothy now as he locked eyes with the Prince. “Who said anything about payments? Bind him. _Tight_.”

The Prince stared at his rival in confusion, hissing as his arms were twisted painfully behind his back before ropes lined with bits of sharp metal were used to restrain him. He yelped as his knees were kicked out, forcing him to kneel down. A hand roughly grabbed him by his head, yanking him down into the dirt.

“You can’t..! The rules..!” he bellowed.

“Did you think this was a hostage situation?” the Commander asked. He laughed, shaking his brown mane as he stepped closer, one metal clad foot resting in front of the noble’s face. “I don’t take mewling hostages who demand to be treated like guests so they may eat my food and drink my wine,” he snorted. “I take slaves and trophies. Which will you be, hm?”

“You bastard…”

“I took care to tread through the piss of the horses and the grime of your dead. Kiss my boots and maybe I’ll wait until we get home to start your training.”

The man snorted in disgust when the ginger spat on his foot instead. The Commander rolled his eyes as he gave his men a signal. The redhead was yanked back up to his feet, dragged kicking and struggling from the courtyard into the field outside of the fortress gates. “I thought royals were supposed to be intelligent.”

“You will be punished for this!” The Prince screamed, throwing his head back to break a captor’s nose in an effort to escape. This earned him a firm punch to the stomach, knocking the wind from him. It also rendered him unable to fight back as he was firmly tied to a wooden frame in the shape of an X. They used the same metal-studded rope which made it impossible to squirm. The contraption had not been on the battlefield this morning.

“And who will punish me?” the Commander asked.

“There are _rules_ that must be followed in war!” the Prince snarled. His voice raised in pitch, indicating some doubt that his enemies failed to respect the importance of virtue and honour.

The enemy leader raised a brow, casually removing a slender knife from his belt. A whetstone was produced and he idly rubbed the blade against it, strolling over to the struggling Prince when he had satisfied himself with the weapon. “I was never one for following the rules,” he confessed with a shrug. “I’m fairly certain that’s why I’m here doing this to you, hm?”

The ginger opened his mouth to growl something else but stopped when his captor suddenly pressed the edge of his blade against the crotch of his pants. He yelped instead, tensing up as he threw his head back in terror. “ _Please_ …”

The knife slid easily through the cloth, silent and precise as it found the warm freckled flesh underneath. “You really should have just kissed my foot,” the man hummed, stripping the noble at a painfully slow pace. The ropes binding thighs and ankles and hips were guides for the knife to follow. The blade was always close, tracing red marks into skin. “Because now...you’ve forced me to break you out here where _everyone_ will see and know of your weakness.”

He paused a moment then, noting the way the Prince’s cock twitched and shifted at his words. “Or was that what you were hoping for all along?” he asked, smiling as he soon removed the other’s tunic in the same way as the pants, leaving him completely naked. He let the tip of his knife tease over the head of the other’s penis, eyes lighting up as he watched it swell and grow despite the obvious danger. “Well look at this…”

“When my family learns what you’ve done…” the prisoner gasped before the knife idly traced a pattern against the inside of his thigh. He had to bite his lip to control himself from bucking.

“You’re getting hard from this,” the Commander noted. He allowed his knife to continue to travel over the other’s exposed body, watching as the Prince shuddered and soon became completely hard just from the sensation and threat alone of the metal piercing and drawing blood. “My...and what will your family think if they’re told about this?” he teased.

He was answered with another glob of spit aimed at him and he snorted, cupping and squeezing the exposed balls hard enough to make the Prince wail. Saliva oozed down his face as he hissed, “Shall I take these and leave you for the crows then?”

“Kill me and be done with it!”

“I think not,” Kevin snorted, “you’re far too fun to play with and I intend to play with you _until you’re finally used up and ready to be thrown away._ ”

_Let it happen. Fight a little more. You’ll be so happy when **it comes**._

“Clover.”

The one word is spoken dully. Automatically.

Adam severs the ropes that bind Earl to the frame in a flash, catching him when he lands on his feet, stumbling into his arms.

“Early?”

“I’m sorry…” Earl mumbles, sluggish. Limbless. He does not protest when Adam scoops him up into his arms. “I just…I just...I’m sorry...”

He is led from the garage carefully and into the bedroom, guided into Adam’s soft and warm bed as the brunet shushes him.

“Adam…”

“Stop apologizing,” Adam states. “We had two pretty intense scenarios. We should have planned them a little more. Actually...something’s off.” Adam concedes this, laying down beside Earl and reaching across the bed to grab a sports drink. He presses it to the other’s lips and is pleased when the ginger reaches up to take over the task. “There’s a reason Cecil kicked you out, right?”

“He didn’t _kick_ me out…”

“Is he acting weird?”

“We all are... _were_ ,” Earl confesses. “I’ve been feeling...promiscuous? Maybe...maybe like, maybe this was all for me. These things tonight. Because I want to be submissive and helpless. And I want to fight. It’s like a fluttering nothing. Like light, in my chest and stomach.”

“What do you think it means?” Adam asks, very soft. Especially attentive.

Earl shakes his head, looking at the ceiling with an expression Adam’s seen in tired, haunted animals. “I don’t know.”

Nor does the brunet. Though he intends to find out.

First, though, he will ask if he can help Earl with his arousal. Maybe his own. And then, with morning, they can face the problem with the proper amount of fear.


	26. Things Buried in Plot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The much delayed digging of plot holes.

Cecil and Carlos had talked. With Earl safely under Adam’s supervision, the radio host had sat down with his primary boyfriend and he had confessed to everything that had plagued him. And Carlos, _perfect_ Carlos, had listened. The talk had been good. Vital. Communication often is, and the words had fallen out of Cecil’s lips and found themselves ghosting over Carlos’ ear. His neck. His skin, tumbling down shoulders and over his ribs and hips.

To other things.

Carlos had touched him. A hand in Cecil’s hair. Fingers tracing the bones of his spine. He had gathered Cecil into his lap and rocked them while shushing any worries with scientific findings about the mind. About how trauma and conditioning and fear work. About being proud of Cecil.

And then they had slept. After the talk.

Cecil wakes when lips press against his shoulder blade. A weight rides against him. Hands fall over his side like the best kind of blanket, seeking warmth from between drawn up legs.

“We talked,” Cecil says. “I told you all about it.”

“Mmmhmmm,” Carlos answers, “And I love to hear you talk.”

Cecil wriggles, feeling the other’s arousal against his backside. “And you love other things?”

“Science,” teases Carlos, not taking the bait. Or he takes it and relishes it slowly. “I could do some experiments on you, Mr. Palmer.”

Cecil’s cheeks hurt in the dark, rising up in a baffled grin. They haven’t roleplayed in a long time. And never without Earl. “Any rules we need to lay down?”

Carlos’ fingers sweep against the expanse of Cecil’s abdomen. “As a rule, I should write down my findings? That’s what makes it Science.”

“I guess...did you want this to be where the experiment overcomes _you_? Like our first time? Or did you want to dom?”

“What are you comfortable with, Mr. Palmer?” Carlos speaks very clinically.

The radio host shifts so he can splay himself before his partner. “I trust you. If you want to explore in order to sate your curiosity…”

“I’m going to have to do some deep explorations to satisfy myself,” murmurs the darker man as he straddles Cecil’s hips. He smiles at him, head tilted to one side as his eyes look over the other’s body. “But...first we need to remove anything that would hinder my progress in these explorations, right?”

Cecil blinks for a moment, confused. He perks up, smiling brightly as he nods his head and starts to undress, fumbling with buttons and zippers. He stops, topless, and waits for Carlos to move so he can shuffle his pajama bottoms off.

“You’re on a metal table,” Carlos describes. “And your hands are here. Your feet are there. You won’t move them.”

Cecil smiles, nodding his head. “I’ll be good,” he promises, pointedly keeping his arms and legs down to simulate their restraints. He still cannot handle actually being tied down but this...this he thinks he do with his sweet perfect Carlos.

“Good! Now I...am a scientist,” Carlos continues, humming as he straddles Cecil, teasing his dick with a still covered ass. He rubs against it lazily, locking eyes with Cecil as he leans forward, resting the palms of his hands on his chest. “And you...are my latest specimen,” he coos.

Cecil mewls, struggling to keep his arms and legs parted for Carlos’ story. He licks his lips, nodding his head. “Should I fight back?”

“If you want, but kept like this...it won’t matter. Because of my equipment, I can do whatever I like to you,” Carlos observes. He lifts up a finger, letting the nail dig slightly into Cecil’s chest. “Perhaps cut you open to see what makes you work?” he considers, putting on his best “evil” smile.

Cecil giggles despite himself. “Tickles..!” he says.

“Are you laughing at me?” Carlos demands, calmly. But the reprimand is sudden.

The Voice stares up at his partner, confusion plain on his face. The grin fades, though perhaps he isn’t playing right. Experiments only mock their experimenters on Fridays, or something. He can’t remember, even though Carlos had been talking about it months ago. It might explain the angry look. His half-hard erection starts to soften, confusion making it impossible to become fully aroused. “Carlos? Can we lay down expectations?”

He gasped as Carlos’ hands are suddenly around his throat. He grabs onto Carlos’ wrists, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Carlos?! I don’t like...you know I don’t like breath play.”

“I won’t tolerate being laughed at! Especially by someone inferior to me!” Carlos hisses, pressing both of his thumbs against the front of Cecil’s throat. “You couldn’t even keep your promise to hold your arms and legs still, Cecil!” he snarls.

“Carlos!” Cecil yells, arms trembling as he kicks out, struggling to remove Carlos from him now. In a frightened panic, he wonders if this is really his fault somehow.

“This is why you were the ** _bad pet_** , Cecil!” Carlos screams in his face.

\--

The yell wakes Carlos. He wonders why Master has removed the hood and gag from the bad…

 _No_. No. He is Carlos and he is in control. And Cecil is crying out. It does not take much to push himself up and to reach out carefully. They’ve had night terrors before. Sometimes literally. But tonight, Cecil comes to consciousness quickly. He sucks in air and whips his head around, eyes finding the room and the familiar shape.

Finding Carlos.

“You’re safe,” the scientist murmurs. “It was a bad dream. Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” Cecil starts. “Maybe?” Then resolutely, “Not now.”

And Carlos nods, his lips closed because he would argue otherwise. They haven’t talked at all. After Earl had left, the pair had turned in. Cecil tired from a long day, he had said. And Carlos allowed it, because the sooner they were unconscious, the sooner he would not be thinking about things he should not be.

In the morning, he’ll call for a session at the Re-Education centre. For now, he struggles with the urge to respect Cecil’s privacy. Especially as he worries.

“Would you write about it in your dream journal?” he offers. “It’s mandatory and all.”

There are a lot of rules that Carlos breaks. As much as Earl follows them dutifully, and Cecil follows them nervously, Carlos shares similarities with Adam in his disinterest in letting the laws (that changed weekly) get in the way of the things he needs to study or do.

The radio host nods. “That’s...that’s a good idea. I’ll...yes.”

He inches away, and Carlos does not follow. He observes Cecil fumble for the journal from their coffee table. It is buried, and the man does not turn on a light to help him search.

“I’ll get us some hot chocolate,” Carlos states.

“I love you,” comes a soft answer, filtering through the dark. It coaxes a private smile from the scientist as he departs. They are not talking much, but they are still saying enough.

He hopes.

In the kitchen, Earl has organized items in sensible ways. Carlos pulls down three mugs. He then puts one back, shaking his head. He tries to think of the ginger being asleep at Adam’s. It might be three or four in the morning. Sunrise feels a long way off. He shouldn’t really know that, but he takes comfort in the dark shadows. The quiet house.

Cecil joins him in the kitchen, his feet padding on linoleum. “I’m never going to get over the taste of food paste on paper.”

“That’s what this is for.” Carlos sets a steaming mug down. “Any insights?”

Cecil holds up a hollowed out dictionary and gives it a rattle as he sits down. “Nothing that would fix all my problems, but it’s a start.”

“If you want to talk about it…”

In their kitchen, illuminated by outside streetlamps and the pale white glow from the stove, Cecil stares at Carlos. It feels like an inspection. An appraisal. “I know I can always talk to you.”

There is earnestness. There is irony. There is genuine fear. And there is love. Carlos hears them all. And he nods. He holds his cup tightly until he can feel the heat transference start to burn his palms. It could be nothing. The bad dream could be about street cleaners or horses. It could be nothing at all.

“I’m going to go bury this,” Cecil says at last. He gets up with the dictionary and Carlos finally peels his hand away from the side of the cup. A shiver is repressed at the pain. Not a bad shiver. Not a good one.

He is still waiting when Cecil returns from the shed, having put away the shovel.

“Ready for bed?”

“Yeah,” Carlos agrees. He folds his fingers into Cecil’s. They return to their room and the house is quiet. The night is silent. No one talks and Cecil curls close, but not too close.

Carlos waits. When he hears his boyfriend start to snore, he extracts himself from the bed. It is easy with the distance between them. He quietly gathers up the papers used for the dream journal and carries them out of the room. Then he descends the stairs and puts everything on the table. The mugs are just where they have left them.

A bit of tracing reveals nothing. Carlos does not know what he will gain by spying on Cecil, but there’s little gained by forcing a conversation. And he wants to know how to progress to best help everyone. He wishes Earl were home. He is also glad that Earl is not.

Earl is a problem. Beautiful Earl who is good for one thing.

Carlos grinds his teeth, wondering why this is so hard. If he can’t express his concerns about himself, how can he expect Cecil to? He would dig up the book in the yard, next. He would see if there were anything to learn from within, though he knows already that the item will be gone. And maybe some Secret Police will see him. And he can set up a meeting for tomorrow. Or now. They can cart him off and make all his uneasy suspicions go away.

Instead, he picks up the journal and takes it down to his lab. The light pops brightly and as he stands in the doorway, he knows the playroom pieces reflect the glow from their dark places. He ignores that. Perhaps science can pick apart things once written in the remaining pages of the book.

Carlos finds that his table is left exactly as it had been from the day before. And again he notes the silence. Usually the Faceless Old Woman is about. She moves his things. She comments on their living arrangements and plans. He can’t remember the last time he had noticed her.

Though someone has been making blueprints and notations and plans on his desk. Carlos picks up the papers as they are in the way of his workspace. The writing looks like his own, but he doesn’t remember it. _‘Creating and maintaining a crack to bring something across worlds.’_

The equations baffle him. Whatever the plans are for, it is meant for something big. He puts them aside so that he can crack Cecil’s silence. It is Carlos’ present concern.

He will work until morning. It’s something a _good_ scientist does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies on the delay. Twenty-two-some weeks of keeping to a schedule is impressive. We'll try to avoid falling behind again, but it seems foolish to make promises. We're doing our best. We appreciate all of you. It's been weird trying to string a lot of pr0n together into a plot, and we both enjoy pr0n and plot. Sometimes the two fit together so seamlessly. Other times...


	27. The Little Spider That Could

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cecil gets another submission.

_The kingdom’s war with the hated Ambassador started to stretch longer than anticipated. The armies had been told that a strong defence would deter future advances of the enemy forces. The Elves had been given a safe haven, and a chance to continue their culture in the woods surrounding the Spoiled Princeling’s city. Unfortunately, the Ambassador had no intentions of letting things go. This the Spoiled Princeling learned through his new recruit, the Beastmaster._

_Rough and tumble, the Beastmaster had been working with the army for several months now. He could control and communicate with spiders, and the critters worked as excellent spies. They could travel on the wind and slip into the bags and armour of enemies. They would report back by communicating through other spiders, or even bugs they had spared. Dragonflies were especially willing to trade their freedom (if they were unable to free themselves on their own) in order to relay messages._

_And in this way, the Beastmaster brought ill tidings. Details of the Ambassador’s interests in culling the Elves that could not make the pilgrimage to the kingdom. His deals with evil poachers and how much they were paid to capture members of the fair race as slaves. The spies had yet to get into the Ambassador’s private chambers. Those rooms were protected by something the Beastmaster didn’t understand, and he had lost several agents in the process._

_Still, there was another option that the Beastmaster proposed. Now that the Spoiled Princeling was willing to work with others, there was one corner of the realm that had potential for an ally…_

_* * *_

_The Elf Princeling is asked by the Beastmaster to come with him on a quest to recruit a powerful partner for their side. Due to the frustrating pressures of war, he distractedly accepts the human’s request. While there is reason to be suspicious of betrayals and threats, the Beastmaster has proven himself worthy after several skirmishes that had saved the lives of the Elf’s people._

_Though after departing from the gates, the Elf finds the leer of the other spurring him to reconsider. They are not traveling in a direction that takes them close to enemy lines. In fact, they are going deeper into territory that the Spoiled Princeling is guaranteed to keep for some time. The forests are thick and the air is damp and cold. Not even the Elves are willing to venture this far. He wonders if he’s made a mistake, and then again if he is not being paranoid and discriminatory to the human. They travel in silence, the occasional glances from the Beastmaster enough to keep the redhead still vigilant._

_The Elf shudders at a swampy breeze, grateful that he had dressed himself in more than the scarlet silks the Princeling enjoys seeing him wear so much._

_There is rot in the air despite the lack of immediate death. Fog makes visibility hard and the presence of a bog lingers just outside of the trees’ border. Earl is left to follow the Beastmaster’s lead, unable to do anything else as he urges his nervous gelding onward. He is not used to following._

_Something tickles the back of his neck and he reaches up a hand to brush it away. He stops before it is crushed, realizing that it is but a spider. He lowers his hand, frowning a little when he finds that he does not recognize the one that perches on his finger. It scampers up his wrist and over his clothes, back to its original hiding place. He lets it, turning to ask his companion about the little spy’s purpose when he is suddenly bitten on the neck from the creature. He cries out, slapping the thing off of him to avoid another bite. “Bastard!”_

_He looks up when he hears the Beastmaster chuckle._

_“I guess it liked you.”_

_“I...what kind of creature hurts one it loves?!” the Elf snaps, resting a palm against the throbbing wound._

_"Oh, no no no," sighs the Beastmaster in amused patience. He settles back on his horse. "It was always going to bite you. Just that it waited this long means it didn't_ want _to."_

_“It...didn’t..?” The Elf feels the side of his neck and face start to go numb. He tilts his head but it is a poor decision. The world starts to spin in that direction, with his equilibrium._

_The Beastmaster is baring his teeth at him. "Don't fight it," he warns._

_"Don't...you planned this." He is going to fall from his horse. He reaches for his blade. His hand cannot open or close to grab it, though. "The Prince...will..."_

_"The Princeling is not here," reminds the Beastmaster, keeping a safe distance away from any of the Elf's tricks. It is wise of him. Earl is seeing a haze, but if this is an attempt to sell him back to the god of the sun... “His instructions were clear, though. Just relax. I know you better than you know yoursel..."_

_Something hits the ground, cutting the words off into silence._

_It might be the Elf._

_* * *_

_When he wakes, he is not properly attached to his mind. Heavy. Disjointed. Sore. Sensitive. The Elf tries to move and finds his wrists above him, bound by rope. They knot around his hands, connected to...something soft. He knows it is a tree but he isn’t familiar with the type. He cracks an eye open to find darkness. There is moonlight from behind, trying to pierce the veil of mist. It is a poor imitation of silver light, but the Elf can see enough with his sharpening eyes to recognize that he has been bound around one of the smooth sickly trunks that they had been surrounded by. He kneels facing it, his neck stiff from having it crookedly resting against the side. The tree is thick enough around that he can hug it and have his fingers clasp. The rope traps him to the growth. The ground is cool and springy under his legs._

_He realizes that he has been stripped of his clothes._

_He shifts, trying to peer behind him. The damned Beastmaster is close by. This Earl can feel; the Beastmaster’s stare looking over his lithe form. He shifts, trying to pick himself up. He tugs on the rope, certain that he may get free at the cost of raw skin and dislocated thumbs. "I demand you release me at once and I'll see your death is swift," he growls._

_From above and behind, perhaps in one of the trees, comes a chuckle. "You always start with threats. I notice that."_

_The Elf tries to look over his shoulder but he can't. His skin puckers from the humid air. He feels so exposed. "What do you want?"_

_Is it possible to hear a shrug? The Beastmaster, now amicably chatty, says, "I am trying to please a great many things. Your Prince, by finding a worthy ally. Myself, in taking advantage of this opportunity. You."_

_"Me?" spits the Elf. "I do not count this as pleasure."_

_"Oh, but you do," counters the other. "My spiders hear you murmur scenarios to yourself in your tent. They tell me everything. I thought I'd help."_

_"That's...a lie."_

_"Nothing to be ashamed of, little thing," chirps the Beastmaster. "You can entertain a great many with your body. That fierceness. That strength. And how it breaks down in helpless desire as we turn your flesh against you. How important you are. I touch myself as much as many others do. My spiders tattle on several men and women in the kingdom. Your Princeling wants to whip you again, but hesitates. Your Alchemist has very dirty plans he won't allow himself to enact. You’re a celebrity and I’m not surprised you never noticed me."_

_The Elf swallows, glancing away. It can't be true. He's a filthy exile from his own kind. But his ears burn. He cannot dash away the thought so easily. "Then what are you waiting for, if I am here and you hide in a tree? Come down and see how pliable I truly am."_

_"That's the spirit," chuckles Adam. "Beg to be broken. Well, I'm here because it's safer for me. You're there because you're a gift."_

_A shiver slips over the Elf's spine. "What?" he hisses, not quite a whisper._

_"The swamp keeps a creature who has not had Elf flesh in centuries. My spider has infected you with a toxin that not only made you easy to subdue, but also creates a smell on you that attracts the beast. After it sates itself, I'll be able to magically bind it in a way your Prince can utilise in battle against this wicked Empire that craves the blood and flesh of your people."_

_The moisture slips from the Elf's tongue. "I do not consent to this."_

_"Oh, you do," challenges the man in the tree. "You know your cock is starting to come alive. Imagine something you can't quite see most of, slipping along the soil towards you. It is winding about an ankle and teasing your balls while a slimy protuberance starts to squeeze into your tight, little ass. Stretching you as your screams are muffled by bitter limbs that are so thick you can't bite them. Dear Elf, you'll feel your ankles dragged towards the swamp and only my knots keep you above ground as something heavy writhes from the depths to lay more of its parts upon you. I expect you'll have suction bites winding around your throat when the day breaks. You'll vomit the slick chemicals that it will pump into you. I promise you'll live, but I may take advantage of your trembling, over-sensitive form when I have the beast sealed away. I think I'll deserve it, the risks I’m taking. You'll be happy to know the Prince says I may claim any reward if I succeed."_

_The Elf's penis twitches throughout the story and his ears are already picking up the shift of surface water. A smell of gas. He peers over his shoulder into the coiling fog and tries not to prove the damned Beastmaster right by rolling his hips._

_Something cold, wet, and strong wraps around one of his ankles and the Elf gasps as he is yanked back suddenly, the ropes around his wrists the only thing saving him from being dragged into the water and drowned._

_He imagines how he must look, and the smug face of the Beastmaster enjoying it nearly causes the Elf to cum. It is shameful. Only, the monster adjusts to its failure to drag away its prize by dragging its horrid, bulbous form closer instead. And it wraps a slick, leathery tentacle around the Elf’s cock for traction before he can spill his seed. And it_ squeezes _..._

_* * *_

_When the Elf wakes up, his body is throbbing and overly sensitive. He whines, coughing up the thick ichor that had been pumped down his throat. He knows he’s expelled some earlier, through his nose. He flinches as a gloved hand strokes one of his ears, mewling as he shakes his head. “Nngh…”_

_“You did wonderfully,” the Beastmaster praises, smiling down at the exhausted Elf. “We have a few days before we are expected back at the castle. You satiated that monster far sooner than any trained Beastmaster would have expected, to be perfectly honest! And as we don’t have to return to the prince for a day, I think we can come up with a few ways to spend that time, hm?” he asks, removing his hand and starting to open the front of his breeches._

_The Elf watches wearily as the brunette presents his erection to him. After a moment, he leans forward to accept the hot offering into his mouth, a firm hand pressed on the back of his head to keep him from pulling away. From the corner of his eye, he catches sight of a spider limping up the side of the tree, resting on a branch overhead. He whimpers before starting to noisily suck on the other’s cock, hands clenched into weak fists as his head starts to bob._

_“That’s a good Elf. Doing your part for your people can feel good for everyone…”_

\---

Cecil looks tired when Adam knocks on the door.

“You too?” the trucker asks, peering behind the radio host into the quiet of the house.

“Hmm?” hums the man, stepping aside.

“Earl had an episode. And it doesn’t make sense as to why he seems to be having such a hard time, you know? He’s been performing his duties in the desert with the proper cleansing rituals so there’s no reason for him to have these issues. But I’m thinking that Carlos could be affected in some way that is similar, and if he’s not sleeping...” Adam explains, stepping in. He hugs a folder in his hand as he speaks over the silence of the house.

Usually when he enters, the Faceless Old Woman likes to obstruct his path with the cooking utensils Earl has used the least. Cheese graters and ladles and broken music boxes…She does nothing today.

“No, it was my fault...I wasn’t the one who slept well. Carlos was fine last night, I think. He was at work when the sun came up and then he said he had to go to the Re-Education centre. Though it was for a check-up. Is Earl okay?”

“He’s resting like a spoiled Elf now. And speaking of…” Adam brings up the papers, flapping them into Cecil’s knit-sweatered chest. “I’d like to give you my offering of fiction. You’ve gotten a lot from that online fan, but may I remind you that I was here first and I’m still the most valued. You gotta give me that. My ego is easily bruised and I’m a sensitive flower.”

He means it in jest. Probably. He expects a wry grin and perhaps an eye-roll from the radio host. Instead, Cecil swallows and turns his gaze away.

“Um, it’s...it’s Kevin’s stories,” Cecil mutters.

“...what?” Adam asks, blinking rapidly as he struggles to understand what Cecil has just told him. He hopes that he had simply misheard but he fears that he is wrong. That he heard Cecil perfectly clear. “The fuck you say?”

The Voice shifts awkwardly on his feet, looking down at the ground as one hand hugs around his chest. The other drapes up to his shoulder, protectively. “The stories...they were from Kevin,” he mumbles.

“Why...didn’t you tell anyone?!”

“I was worried that it would set Earl and Carlos back! They’ve been doing so well, you know? I don’t want them to start regressing just because that bastard found a way back into our lives! I--!” Cecil yelps when Adam slaps him across the face with the papers. The radio host, looking at the other with wide eyes, raises a hand to touch where he had been struck. No one dares to hit him like that...not even the SSP when they collect him for Re-Education.

“I’m here for _all_ of you,” Adam firmly reminds.

“Adam…”

“But you need to be _honest_ with everyone involved if you want to make sure this works, okay?”

“You...you’re right,” swallows Cecil.

“We need to tell Earl and Carlos about these stories. They need to know that Kevin is still up and about. That they have nothing to fear from him. We’re both here for them, right?”

“I…”

“Right?” Adam presses. “I may have left the Scouts, but I did earn my Lying badge and you can’t lie to me. And I know you didn’t stay long enough to learn about the Lying to Yourself badge.”

Cecil slowly nods his head, offering the other a smile. It’s a fake gesture, but that’s a start at least. “I’m sorry.”

“Apologize to me _last_ ,” Adam scolds. “Our subs are priority. Though if you want to make up for it…” he flaps his story one more time.

And Cecil grins meekly. “You were first. And you’re best.”

“Damn straight.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at us, on time again. Like real adults and everything! Please stay tuned, as we might have a reader-gifted story to share with you as early as tomorrow. We're very excited.


	28. Asking to be Graped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Earl is, again, very bad at escape attempts.

The four talk. The story submission Cecil had received sits before them, made on paper that had nearly burned up in the printer. Earl has not touched the item. Carlos eyes it warily. For this reason, Cecil had tried to articulate the scenes within, but by the end of “The Talk” it had fallen upon Adam.

“So do we change our habits because of these revelations?” the truck driver asks. “Are there more things to bring to the table?”

Carlos rubs his fingers up and down his mug. “I’ve been very focused on work, lately. But the same old things are still there. Less often, but they’re not gone. I can’t remember what they were, though. Now. Re-Education smothers what I know and I’m calling it a good thing.”

Small smiles are granted, as the man’s pretty hair hides a line of tape from his recent session.

Earl shrugs. “I report the same. I’m better, until I’m not. But now that this filth has resurfaced, we know to be more cautious. Kevin had always been out there. He’s attempting to affect us and I don’t think we should let him. Obviously, we take precautions. But I don’t want him to ruin what we have.”

Cecil nods. “We should always be afraid. The world is a terrifying place. I’m sorry, though. For the secrets.”

“You were keeping us safe,” Carlos starts.

Adam nods. “Some secrets are worthy ones to keep. Every Scout or former Scout knows that. But cases like this, we’re better together.”

“Butt cases,” Earl snorts.

Adam, trying to be serious, punishes the ginger by locking an arm around his head. And like that, the mood breaks and the boys depart to their weekly Rico’s.

A certain butt may have been spanked over the car in the garage and its owner made to sit nicely upon it in a booth during pizza. All agree that it is good to have the air cleared and the matter of the submissions put aside so other subs could be focused upon. 

\--

Two weeks later and Cecil uses the internet not for writing or reading fic, but to view cat and box videos, as well as to shop online. When a package arrives at their door, he swoons from his signing in blood, clutching several boxes to his chest. Carlos finds him in the hallway, anemic and smiling.

“What’s got you all sideways?” asks the Scientist. He looks tired after the morning spent in the lab, but he easily matches the grin the other expresses.

“I got presents,” chirps the radio host, still hugging the containers.

Some concern splays over the darker man’s features. “Are the boxes empty? Did something bite you?”

“Help me open them!” 

With only a healthy amount of suspicion, Carlos does. There are no venomous creatures inside -- which could have explained Cecil’s sprawling -- but three jeweled collars and one crown. The first that Carlos extracts is a steel one of two loops that latch in the back. They are reenforced together with criss-crossing bands of metal and each square is decorated with dangling faux emeralds.

The second collar is more stylized, with thin silver rings carrying a host of polished amethyst in half moons. Finally, the last that Carlos picks up is a silver collar that is more straight forward. A thick metal circle with a run of bronze colouring around the outside. The silver streak inside hosts tiny tiger’s eyes that are inset cleverly so they resemble spikes.

Cecil shakes the last box, drawing out a crown that is simple. An iron band with three tiny stones. One green. One purple. One brown.

“Harem?” Carlos asks.

Cecil hugs the empty cardboard cubes to his chest. “When the others get home, I hope so!” 

\-- 

The playroom is filled with pillows. Cecil hangs silk from the walls and makes a wicker chair as plush and comfortable as he can. Then they establish roles as they put on their costumes. A beige slip for Carlos. A purple one for Cecil. Adam, as their Master, borrows Earl’s red robe and the ginger wears only his collar.

“You’re the one that almost got away,” gruffs the one applying the crown to his head. It is crooked with the gems not centred, but somehow the look suits Adam more this way. “Ceec is my best slave, and Carlos, you’re new. So take your cues from Cecil, but speak up at any point if you want to do something, or if you want to stop.”

“Purple,” agrees the scientist as he tugs at his collar. It is not too tight. 

Earl adjusts his emerald collar so it constrains a little tighter around his throat. He flexes and turns his head and then confirms his own understanding. “Olive.”

Cecil had placed his own collar upon himself long before the game had begun so he spends his time preparing the ropes for binding their disobedient slave. A chair is produced, the twin to the wicker throne of Adam’s, though this one is sagging and less comfortable. It is not adorned with plush pillows. Its straw sticks out in frayed bunches. These will scratch and itch.

Earl’s arms are lashed behind it and after Cecil completes the knots, Earl untangles himself from them cheekily by the time his ankles are bound open. 

“Oh you brat,” Cecil snickers, giving Earl a slap on the inner thigh before he returns to the sneaky freckled wrists.

Earl’s knees are pulled wide and he ends up displayed in an unelegant slouch. His ankles are stuck to the chair legs and his cock and belly are left available. Adam waves Carlos to settle at his side and the scientist kneels to have his head scratched soothingly while Cecil sets up his plans.

“You look good,” Adam comments, casually fondling himself. Carlos blushes and quietly murmurs thanks. 

Earl shifts to adjust his back and ass on the unkind surface, and the struggle is beautiful. His cock begins to gain volume, so readily on display.

Then Cecil returns with the piece de resistance. A bunch of grapes hang plumply from a stem. The fat, violet seedless variety, which Cecil drapes in ceremony over the groin of their ginger. They have been washed and Earl twitches as the cold dampness settles on his most sensitive parts. Cecil kneels to arrange them artfully, covering the penis completely.

He leans over Earl with damp fingers, letting the remaining droplets fleck out over the helplessly exposed chest and abdomen. Earl’s nipples harden at the sensation and he bites back a noise, transferring it into a pretend glare.

Cecil winks before turning to present his work to Adam. 

“You impress me, as always,” rumbles their Master. He stops his ministrations with both hands, before giving Carlos a friendly push. “Pretty One, go fetch me a grape. Your Master is hungry. I don’t want you to use your hands.” 

Carlos crouches, not sure if he should crawl or stand. He opts for something in between. He hunches down, letting his knees pull him across carpet in a crawl without use of arms. And then he settles with a soft exhale between Earl’s open legs. It is now that his posture loses dignity as he leans in to sniff at the bundle of ripe fruit. His cheeks heat as he is observed by all present.

It is hard to focus on a grape to select but he dutifully leaves his hands in his lap. They are close to a very warm part of himself and… 

SNAP.

His shoulder stings from a switch. It is a gentle swat, not cutting skin. Cecil’s voice is stern. “Master said he was hungry. Don’t take too long.” 

Carlos nods, swallowing. He pushes his nose in and feels the thighs around him tensing. It is hard to pluck off a single grape without damaging it in any way but he manages to do so on his first try.

Earl is struggling to keep still during the selection. As Carlos’ nose puffs in concentrated frustration, it tickles his member. The captured slave whines softly, squirming ever so slightly in the chair. He flinches as his body is scratched and jabbed by the wicker. He struggles to keep himself still to avoid any further harm. He cannot however, hide how very hard he is.

Carlos blushes at the sight of Earl’s erection knocking the grapes askew from their place on his body. He turns back and makes his way to Adam’s side, holding the grape daintily between his perfect teeth. He lifts up his chin, offering the fruit to the brunette.

Adam smiles and reaches down instead, taking Carlos carefully by his perfect hair before pulling him up into a kiss. The offered grape is traded with a satisfied hum from the Master. He smiles knowingly when Carlos shivers in pleasure, and pulls back to finish chewing before licking the other’s lips. “Favored One, you must be so hungry. You may have the rest of them,” he offers to Cecil.

The Voice smiles and turns his attention to Earl. He moans hungrily as he steps towards him, dropping down to his knees between the other’s spread legs. He makes sure to be as loud and obscene as possible as he eats, taking turns between plucking fruit and sucking on Earl’s erection.

With Cecil and Earl occupied, Carlos slowly kisses Adam. He sighs into the gesture, wanting to draw back slightly to nuzzle the man but gasps when Adam gives his bottom lip a gentle bite. 

“I wonder if you are as juicy as that fruit was…” growls the man.

Carlos blushes and remoistens his mouth. It is all he can do to offer the other a small nod of his head, rolling his hips forward to explain his interest. Adam slides his knee under Carlos and lets the rich chocolate-dressed man adjust himself slowly, straddling Adam’s leg to grind himself against it. His heart hammers in his chest as he slowly becomes fully erect, panting as he looks at Adam with cloudy eyes. 

While Carlos and Adam start to play, Cecil starts putting the stems from the bunch of grapes to good use. They are still wet and he runs their sharp points over the sensitive flesh of Earl’s penis. Earl hisses and groans as Cecil teases him, yelping as one of the stems pierces his urethra. “Fu…”

“Such bad language!” Cecil gasps. “May we punish him, Master?” he asks over his shoulder. 

Adam flashes his teeth in a wicked grin as he says, “prick him properly, my pretty genius! And then we will let our hungry one here satiate his need in the naughty slut’s ass!”

The Voice smiles, turning his head to lock eyes with Earl. “Of course, Master! We can’t allow disobedient sluts to go unpunished, can we?” It is with those words that he chooses a stem to slowly sound the freckled captive.

Earl incoherently cries out, head tossing back and wrists tugging futilely against his bonds.

Adam turns his attention to Carlos then, lowering his voice as he asks, “can you show me how desperate you are to fuck him? I want you to be unrelenting because… bad sluts only serve as decoration or for rough fucking.”

The Outsider licks his lips, playing the part of the shy slave, grinding himself against Adam’s leg. He presses in as he kisses Adam again. “I want to be good,” he whispers. 

“You always will be, no matter what,” Adam tenderly whispers. He reaches up, stroking Carlos’ head in comfort. “Now, Early wants you to fuck his brains out while he stays painfully hard. Can do you that? Do you want to?”

Carlos smiles shyly, nodding his head as he tenderly nuzzles Adam’s cheek. “Yes,” he says.

“You know his safe words. Now, go satisfy your lovely length in that tight freckled ass. Cecil! My cock isn’t going to warm itself!”

Carlos nods and slides off of Adam’s leg to approach Earl. Cecil happily goes to take Carlos’ place, kissing the brunet on the lips first before trailing downwards, slipping onto his knees between Adam’s legs, hands resting on the other’s thighs.

The redhead whines as he watches Carlos using lubricant on himself. “Please...I was trying to get away to get help! Help for olive us!”

Carlos slaps at Earl’s inner thigh to silence him, kneeling to free his legs and then to wrap around his middle. This forces Earl to give more leeway for penetration, and both men gasp as the dark cock makes contact with a tight ass.

“We like you better this way,” Carlos grunts out. “We are learning our place and your place is to be tied down! You...you’re only good for one thing!” He lets his thumb drop onto the stem that sounds Earl and the would-be escapist lets out a wail. He spasms around Carlos’ dick and it feels so good to the other.

Earl shudders, whining as he grips the arms of the chair he is bound to tighter. “Oh Gods…” he whimpers. 

Carlos leans in close, kissing Earl on the lips as he continues to thrust into him at a deep and steady pace. “You’ll learn to like it here…” he pants, “I think I’m starting to.”

Earl fights against his bonds and the body pressing into him. It allows him to push back, his ass starting to lift from the seat. His contortion creates a new tight angle for Carlos to fuck him from and the other smiles and obliges by thrusting in harder.

Because Earl deserves this. He is good for nothing more than…

He stops to breathe and remember who he is. “I’m good,” he puffs, laying his head against the quivering chest of his partner. “I’m good…I love you.”

Earl’s head his lolling, eyes glazed. He fixates in hopeful horror of his situation and aware of this, Carlos lays a kiss against a warm chest. He reaches up to press a palm to a slick cheek and when Earl blinks his mismatched eyes, the scientist asks, “will you fuck me to completion? I like...when you sound...distressed.” 

Earl’s brows knit, but then he nods and releases a most pathetic whine. The sound is obscenely frustrated, coinciding with tiny jerks of hips and tugs on rope. His heel bucks against Carlos’ spine as if he were weakly trying to fight off his host and failing horribly at it.

His panting manages the most in resistance. “I will...n...never do what...what olive, olive you want...Oh Gods. I’m...I’m meant to be free. Please…”

Carlos shudders as he feels himself close in on the white hot brilliance of perfection. Then he shushes the other, withdrawing carefully and plucking free the grape stem from the slit of Earl’s cock. The lube is close at hand and Carlos moves automatically. He does not know how he keeps himself controlled but he spills a slick pile on his fingers and over Earl’s member.

The ginger jerks at the sensation of cold gel on the tip of his member, groaning wordlessly with tears in his eyes. Through the gaps of the seat, Carlos lifts his legs and climbs over the erection. 

“You’re going to behave soon,” he huffs. Lowering himself onto the cock is a careful process, so as not to topple the chair. By instinct, Earl senses this and lays flat. Still. “You’ll be so good for Master and you’ll want nothing more than the collar you wear to be chained to the bed…”

Earl jerks his head, cheeks fiery and lashes fluttering. He is whispering “olive” and “no.” Carlos is like a vice around his abused cock, hot and heavy. Squeezes tease the centre of his world. This is better than rings, or ropes. His slit burns, still tender from the sounding and the feeling is somehow sweet.

He is close and all he can do is mewl in pathetic need.

That sound is enough to push Carlos over. He spills his seed across the chest and cheek of his captive. And with his darkest voice, Carlos hisses, “you desperate whore, you deserved all of this.”

And that pushes Earl over with an airy scream. 

Riding out the orgasm, Carlos roils his hips as he drapes over the other. And with an embarrassing trail of drool slipping from his lips, Carlos mutters a breathy, “purple.” 

He peers over his shoulder to gauge how the others are faring and stiffens at the intensity of Cecil and Adam’s stares. They are both watching, Cecil standing with his penis poking against the soft fabric draping down from his hips. Adam leans forward with his lip suckled by teeth. 

“Are Masters pleased?” Carlos whispers tiredly.

Adam gives Cecil an elbow. “Go clean our lovely pet. Your tongue will do.”

“Thank you,” Cecil purrs, his gratitude overflowing. He strides forward and helps Carlos lift from Earl’s cock. There are pillows piled on the mattress from when the items had last bred dozens of new cushions and Cecil directs the other to lie comfortably so he may care for all stains.

“Oh, my very good playthings,” Adam hums as he watches the pair work. Earl is ignored for but a moment, puffing tiny “olive” with a distracted flutter of eyes. “You exhausted playthings are welcome to reward yourselves with your bodies. But bad pets stay bound.” 

He stands and circles the wicker chair that continues to hold the emerald collared brat. Adam’s erection is clear as it is fondled by the man. He stops only to pick up a switch. “While my lovely ones clean up, I want you to think of how much harder you make them work. Colour?”

“Olive,” Earl sighs, his eyes still closed. 

The whip snaps over a nipple and Earl can only cut off half of a squeal. When Adam is done, he plans to have the ginger a mess of criss-crossing lines. The switch disturbs and spreads the drying semen and soon, the Master’s own seed will paint new scars.

Earl will drift off with the idea that the others admire the broken body before them, before he is dragged to the bed and left to sleep while they clean him. Cecil will whisper with his Voice of the drugs they will give him as he recovers from this. He will be dressed up and displayed. Left in obscene poses, or used. His once proud posture will be prodded and fucked as he limblessly takes it. And when he comes to, he will be chained to a headboard with an archaic cock cage upon him, with an open mouth gag and the slaves he had failed to save behaving meaner than he remembers. All entertainment for the beloved and powerful Master.

Carlos holds up a chalice that he had gotten from the thrift store. It is only possibly haunted, though the Secret Old Woman might chase away the ghost...whenever she decides to show up again. From it, he coaxes Earl to quaff back a sport’s drink. And the ginger shivers as he believes in the stories of what comes next.

There will be plenty that cums next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 100,000+ words. What even?  
> 15,000+ hits. Are you sure?
> 
> Well, um, for both things: thanks!
> 
> We had a fan story shared with us last week, but the author has decided not to post the tale publicly. I bring it up to say: if you're inspired to write or draw or create anything because of this smut, we'd be honoured to hear about it. That this is a shared thing (as the above numbers indicate) means a lot to us. 
> 
> Through this, we've realized that our kinks, while strange, are not isolated. And again, neither author condones non-consensual or harmful relationships in reality. Communicate. Be safe. Never be afraid to do what is best for you. Many fetishes only work as fantasy and they can be fantastic when explored imaginatively. Writing and this fandom offers a creative way to do that and after all of this time, we've only gotten support. Not one single hateful message. Again: thanks.


	29. My Little Slutty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam has a job he has to do.
> 
> But stories can still be shared through the magic and chanting of email.

Adam finds that he can no longer prolong his stay in Night Vale with the others. The truck he drives is starting to become sentient and it will wander the American landscape with or without him and has warned him as much with a piece of roadkill nailed to his door. If he loses his vehicle, he loses his livelihood. So he returns to the road, promising to keep up with his partners through email.

Perhaps they’d like to do some traveling too?

\--

He notices the pair looking at stuffed animals in a small shop. Immediately he knows that they need to be his and he follows after them, slipping into the crowd to avoid being noticed by the sharp-eyed ginger. It is not until he is certain they are completely alone and out of sight that he strikes, careful not to leave any permanent damage on their diverse and beautiful bodies.

They prove themselves as fiesty by being annoying when he takes them back to his hideout in the city. The redhead bites and lashes out whenever he’s given the chance and there were several incidents where the pair had escaped their bonds and very nearly made it to the authorities before being subdued again.

It’s time for him to take them back to his proper home. He can no longer risk keeping them here and the move will be good for them; reminding them that he has full control of what they can or cannot do and where they will live. Besides, he has a rather unique friend who could stand to have some fun in his life too. He coos this to them as he presses a cloth over their mouths, forcing them to take in deep breaths.

Once his unwilling toys are unconscious, it is easy for the man to consider how he may bring the pair home. Borders are difficult and flying is never easy. He is not going to waste money on paying for their plane tickets and then even more on the drugs they would need to keep them docile and quiet. Further, he does not want to give them a chance to find new owners, or to escape from him before he is able to properly play with them. They have proven resourceful before, so the man makes careful arrangements. They must be hidden, and he must be close to them in the transfer.

A most unusual commission is made.

First, he binds his prizes up. Their limp limbs are folded, ankles to ass and strapped in. Their hands are wrapped in leather bondage mittens and then bound to their collars. These greatly reduce the size of the toys and when they start to rouse, an open mouth gag with a stopper is already applied to keep them silent.

Of course they’ve been stripped down and cock rings and cages keep them from making messes. They twitch and squirm on the ground as their owner waits for his guest to come and take measurements for his little smuggling operation. He smiles as he watches them, naked bodies squirming and moving on the floor with nowhere to go. He idly considers leaving them like this when they’re home.

He is told that the job will not be cheap when the man he called finally arrives. Once the concept is shared and the fabric is discussed, the toysmith explains that the foundation to support the weight of each toy will have to be extra, furthermore, the detail to meet demands...

The man, though, has no concerns for cost. And after letting the toysmith play with the pudgier dark skinned toy, a discount is given and the man is assured that everything will be prepared by the time of his departure.

The ginger, ignored by the toysmith on this particular visit, is caught rutting into the carpet and the man applies a spreader bar and then ties him onto his back so he has no access to friction. These are not the right tools to deal with that defiant glare however, and once more he is nostalgic for home. Proper discipline may be performed there.

When the commission is ready, the toysmith brings his assistants to help outfit the toys. Giant plush ponies are brought out. They have large heads with giant cartoonish eyes. Their fur puffs out in vivid colours. One is black with streaks of white and lavender. The other is red and peppered in golden freckles. Four flat footed legs firmly support the shapes. Upon inspection, the gaping mouth is open to a cavity within.

The man is pleased and all that is left is to hide his toys inside. He has washed and prepared the pair while waiting. He has been kind in letting them linger close to one another, but now that he is putting them in these covers, they will not be able to see one another for some time. To ease this process and to keep them from being inconvenient, the man applies leather hoods over their heads, once they have been given a chance to appreciate his scheme. He runs his hands over their covered heads when they start to whimper, whispering words of comfort before allowing them to be slipped into their temporary new homes.

They resemble small ponies themselves, with legs shortened at the knees and arms at the elbows. Inside, the plush deformities are cushioned to the dimensions of each pet. Their stunted legs with ankles firmly lashed to their upper thighs, will slip into individual pockets. Their cocks are wrapped securely to keep from feeling any pressure, though the master has outfitted each wrapping with wireless toys. Their arms are similarly bound, though unlatched from their collar. Those collars are pulled so they are fastened inside the head of the plush. The hoods also lock into place so there can be no resistance. Open mouth gags remain with stoppers that are easily applied or removed if one dares to put their hand into the pretend mouth of the beast.

The plushes open from the spine through a series of snag latches. The man is instructed to close the fabric from the neck down, which makes the back legs and spine the easiest to attend to in the future. Before he closes up the toys in their cushy prisons, he allows his toysmith and assistants to partake of his pets. Then he washes them again before applying one of the many styles of custom tails to their backsides.

These he also outfits with a few of his favourite vibrators. Sealed away, he circles the silent toys and finds that they look outlandish. But their ridiculousness hides their true nature and that is all he wants.

A phone call to a custom agent he knows means he can skirt most clearance in exchange for a favour or two. No one else will look properly at his prizes. And his prizes will be safely kept on the long journey.

\--

A grateful toysmith arrives the day of the flight to help load the adorable giant plushies onto a wheel cart at the airport. It is busy and the noise of excited or irritated traffic drowns out the rare projected whimper from the toys. The bright colours and silly display causes heads to turn briefly but only briefly before people move on. The man smiles kindly at curious onlookers but finds himself pulled to the front of the oversized luggage line by his contact. The man in the suit looks eager.

“I’ll...um, be in charge of inspecting them,” he murmurs with flushed cheeks.

“And I know you’ll take good care of my things,” agrees the man. “I’m off to have a coffee and await boarding. My seat is located here,” he flashes his ticket. “If you could put them close to under that, I will have ways to keep them from being lonely on the long trip.”

The officer nods. “Anything for...for this. You. Um...yes.”

The man enjoys his coffee and sits by a window admiring the sky and the planes taking off and landing. He takes his seat in first class and trusts that his prizes will be somewhere beneath him. The plush should keep them somewhat warm once the higher altitudes are breached. He fondles the remote, not interested in obeying the wireless rules. His pets’ comfort are more important than rules regarding wifi.

The man tells a steward a joke that makes him laugh until he cries. Down below, the man knows that he is making others cry, too. He naps to the thought, turning off the vibrators only when the plane starts to descend. He wants them compliant when he gets home. He wants them desperate and beautifully blue balled.

He arrives at the terminal looking rested. The plushies are loaded by young workers wearing heavy ear protection. They do not look closely at their work. They are also clumsy and careless. The red and gold fur is smudged on one side and arrives on the trolley sideways, with the purple and black one stacked upon it.

The man cannot scowl for long. He pushes a squeaking wheeled cart laden with both into the terminal to find his friend waiting. The figure is dressed in colours that match the plushies. A coincidence, which pleases both.

“Oh, those are strange!” coos the tangerine, indigo, and pale gold fluffed figure with the white headband and fannypack.

“They’re gifts for you,” the man offers. “Though I was not expecting you here. I’m afraid they need a bit of a cleaning.”

The brightly dressed figure gasps at the presents, reaching over to stroke the lips of one. His fingers rub on crusted stains and he frowns, leaning in to look closer. A muffled whine has the friend’s eyes widening as large as the plush’s.

“I don’t deserve this!” the friend trills, flapping his hands in excitement.

“You may not deserve the ginger. But we’ll see. Thank you for welcoming me home.”

\--

 _And some of them live happily ever after,_ Adam types.

Cecil grins as he reads back the last few lines of the story. He is at his desk and one of his “inspirations” is strapped to the bottom of his office chair. It is the contraption that Carlos had built a long time ago, where Earl kneels on a dildo with his head locked at the bottom of Cecil’s seat. A few more thrusts and the radio host knows he’ll climax. He’ll then thank Adam for the story and the fictional “gifts”, lean back, and relax as Earl contentedly continues to take what his mouth’s given.

When Carlos is done in his lab, he can join them. Earl and Carlos can sit on the bed and Cecil will use his Voice on the pair. He’s got something to share with them now. And how lovely a set of two toys will be for him…

_Thanks for the gift,_ Cecil replies. _I think it will keep on giving..._


	30. He Wants the D(nD)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dungeons and Dragons: Satan's Game. Your children, like it or not, are attracted in their weaker years to the Occult and a fic like D+D fuels their imagination and makes them feel special, while drawing them deeper and deeper into the bowels of El Diablo. This afternoon, an Owl and some Pants invites you to sit in on an actual gaming session. Observe the previously unobservable as a hidden camera takes you to the inner sanctum of Depths of Depravity.
> 
> "Are there any Earls there? Because I want to do them!"

Disclaimer:  **This fic has a referenced bad end. Viewer discretion is advised.**

Cecil is slowly becoming annoyed with Earl in regards to their sessions of Dungeons and Dragons. The Voice had carefully planed everything for their early campaigns, trying to account for every choice his characters could make during each adventure. He had crafted detailed storylines and had woven delicate plot twists, and he had created lovely villains and helpers and quests and…

And Earl is ruining it.

The Scoutmaster had rolled up an Elven Ranger. A Wood Elf, more specifically, according to Carlos who took to the rules and supplementary texts with reckless abandon. The Scientist loved the charts full of numbers. Earl, too, has his Numbers badge and the pair utilized those talents far too well.

The Ranger began to pull through every one of Cecil’s obstacles and he finished the conflicts far too smoothly for the DM’s liking. Several times, Earl had led the master of their games to scramble about in order to invent some plausible reason to keep the party entrenched. Earl had revealed a habit of being able to solve a mystery full weeks in advance.

With the Faceless Old Woman still absent from their home (and possibly everyone’s home), it became impossible for Cecil to call Earl on cheating at his rolls. The dice were displayed before everyone and the numbers were always in the ginger’s favour.

The ginger was not trying to be an asshole on purpose. Adam had gleefully started with that designation himself, stalling the plot for amusing moments of character expression that only he would appreciate. Where his shenanigans persisted, though, Earl’s cleverness had compensated until only Cecil had felt frustrated. His precious Carlos would not complain, content with tallying random lists of dice rolls for Science and allowing the more outgoing men to direct his Wizard on what to do.

Often, Earl would sit making piles of dark-coloured God’s Eyes from popsicle sticks and mysterious thread found in the gorge. It was one of his chores that would keep the Smiling God at bay. (More eyes equal more protection...probably). When Earl engaged with the story, it was to make his Elf the expert at whatever task needed doing.

They played by the ominous light of Earl’s crafted artifacts, and once more, Cecil failed to reach his cinematic climax before the Ranger announced a foolproof way to satisfy all NPCs. Cecil thought again of Old Woman Josie’s advice regarding tabletop gaming, as he glared at the untouched notes he had devised.

“Fudge the rolls if you have to. Also, eat this fudge. It is holy,” she had said.

The Ranger’s solution was perfect, though. Fitting. Smooth and efficient and garnering the praise of all players. Perhaps there was only one thing left to do.

It was time for the Wood Elf to die.

\--

Cecil recruits Adam’s help. If he is to drastically disrupt the party by enforcing his will and not allowing anyone (namely Earl) the chance to speak up against that, he will need assistance. Before he can consider running the idea, or at least a warning, by Carlos, the Scientist admits that he may have to skip the next session or two. His work in the lab is getting critical and he’d like to spend some private time there.

Adam asks for information first, but soon he is very on board.

They wait until the next game night, assuring Carlos that they will make sure to write up some notes so that he doesn’t miss anything crucial. Cecil explains to his pair that their Wizard has been called away to his Order for some kind of ceremony. A few minor monsters keep them occupied, meant to test the abilities of the Barbarian and the Ranger when they are without their magic user. During this, Earl once again finds a solution that Cecil had not prepared for. This is sign enough for Cecil to act out and he smiles at Earl as he mentions that while Adam’s warrior carries their new loot back to camp, the Ranger springs an unnoticed trap.

“My perception is impressive,” Earl murmurs from behind a new God’s Eye charm. He reaches mechanically for the dice. “Let me roll to see it.”

Cecil allows the clatter. He listens to Earl declaring his character’s awareness and he rolls his own dice behind the screen. Without even regarding the result, he names a higher number. “You’re caught in a trap you haven’t seen before.”

The redhead shrugs his shoulders and rolls again. “I didn’t see it, but I have adequate reflexes,” he says. “Nineteen, and my save adds eight.”

Cecil makes another gesture of rolling from behind his board. “Twenty,” he smoothly lies. “It is natural.”

Earl frowns, narrowing his mismatched eyes as he starts to stare more attentively at the board. He has his Discernment of Truth badge and he is very much aware of how much Cecil sometimes lies. There is generally a good reason, though the Dungeon Master has never lied during the game before. Earl hesitates, not making an outright accusation. Instead, he shrugs and picks up his die. “Then I’ll just have to make an escape artist check and…”

This is when Adam gets up from his chair. He needs to walk around Earl to reach the kitchen and the ginger thinks little of it until an arm is thrown around his neck, pulling him hard against his chair back.

“You fail your roll,” Adam says.

Earl frowns, adjusting himself slightly in his chair. “I haven’t even made the attempt,” he points out.

“You. Fail. Your. Roll.”

The Voice smiles wickedly, locking eyes with Earl as he leans closer across the table between them. “And now you’ve become a prisoner of three Ringlefinch Trolls, who lumber out of the trees from downwind.”

Earl scowls and tries to move as if he were his character, trying to free himself. It is the look in Cecil’s eye that stops him. The Game Master continues, “The Trolls intended on selling someone to the corsairs a few days march from here on the coast. You would have encountered them at least twice if you had played along with the narrative I had presented. But alas, I’ll let you know that these seamen have been been paying well for more bodies to fill their galleys as oar slaves and to these Trolls, you look strong enough to last at least a few months starving and working hard.”

“Okay,” Earl slowly exhales. Adam’s pin is still unexplained. In fact, Earl’s already thinking of ways to mediate a more efficient way to supply the corsairs with power for their ships. A few campaigns back the party had indebted a maker of clockwork golems so...

“Suddenly, however, one of the Trolls looks at you a little closer and an expression of recognition crosses his ugly features. ‘This is that Wood Elf who has been killing and negotiating his way throughout the lands! But then that means his two friends cannot be far behind. We wouldn’t last against them!’ The other is just as unusually smart, grunting, ‘and even if this one is alone, how will we be able to hold him? He’ll just escape and kill us anyway!’”

“Ooooh,” Adam croons. “A reputation precedes you.”

Earl squints at Cecil, encouraging him to make his point.

“The Trolls around you continue to discuss you. They are rightly terrified of the implications of what comes next. They know you would never allow them clemency.”

“As they are my character’s sworn enemies, yes,” agrees Earl. He is now tabulating the rolls needed to stave off these beasts. The moment he is able to reach his dice…

“They know they have damned themselves. Day is approaching and if they leave you dead before they hide, they expect your companions will avenge you while they rest. While Ringlefich Trolls are generally disgusting and unintelligent, these three are a more clever variety of their kind. Also, it is revealed to your character that these Trolls show the admirable quality of, when facing death, they will do so on their own terms.”

The highly unusual turn in their regular play keeps Earl’s attention as Cecil narrates. He does not interrupt with outbursts spurred by his fictional character’s distaste for Trolls. He knows the Elf would be reciting weaknesses to himself. With Adam happily holding Earl in place, it makes sense not to trust the Barbarian to find him.

Cecil resumes. “They decide they will stay out and wait on the sunrise...and they will be taking you with them.”

“Wood Elves don’t turn to stone in the daylight,” Earl counters.

Cecil leans over the table, bracing himself with both of his palms as he smiles at Earl, looking positively sinister as he pauses a moment. “They are disgusting creatures with certain endowments. And you are an uptight enemy with tight openings. Now, my little troublemaker, would you like to roll your escape now?”

Earl’s mouth is impossibly dry as he finally clues into Cecil’s intentions. “I think I’d like to see where the story goes,” he whispers. He gasps when Adam unexpectedly bites his ear.

“That was a good choice,” Adam huffs, ending the approval with a long lick over the shell of Earl’s ear.

Cecil leans back, smiling as he takes the time to make himself comfortable in his chair. He lets the tension hang in the air, pausing to adjust his floral print poncho and chicken feather scarf. It is not until Adam rolls his eyes and loudly clears his throat that Cecil perks up with a wide smile, happily resuming his story of what happens to Earl’s Ranger.

Two of the Trolls hold onto the Ranger’s arms, keeping a tight grip as he tries to fight out of their grasp, managing only to hurt himself in the process.

_**Your Ranger loses three hit points from struggling.**_

The third Troll starts to tear off his clothes, only pausing to let his allies adjust their grip on their prey before starting again. The work is swift and harsh, leather and cloth ripped off of his lean and muscled frame, leaving him completely naked.

**_Any rolls with Charisma scores will have a negative four applied to them._**

The Trolls do not waste time preparing him for penetration. Oil is used solely for their own erections and then suddenly the Ranger is being pulled back, impaled onto a painfully large cock. An arm is hooked under one of his legs, lifting it up into the air, forcing him to lean forward at an awkward position. The Ranger’s arms are roughly gripped by the Troll’s companions but it feels as if those limbs are being pulled from their sockets and he does his best to compensate, sobbing as one part of his body in particular begins to be agonizingly central to the abuse.

And to his shame; the Ranger is becoming hard. His cock betrays him as it starts to swell and harden, bobbing in the air with every thrust inside of him. The Trolls notice this and laugh, his face burning with fresh shame.

_**Similarly, your Will rolls will take eight points off should you need them.**_

One of his arms is wrenched back and he howls as this drives him further onto the cock, forced to watch as the third Troll starts to sharpen the point of a discarded bone. He squirms, valiantly trying not to show fear as the pointed bone is brought towards his heaving torso. His resolve fails him however when his left nipple is pierced through and he howls loud enough to scare off any birds that had been lingering in the trees. The same act is applied to the other and the Trolls consider repeating the act on his cock, but the sky is lightning and there will be no time for a third piercing. The Elf dizzily accepts that blessing between sobs as rusted hoops of silver are forced through the newly created holes.

He is shaking as a third loop, meant for his cock, is still applied. Not through any hole, but trapping it in a painful vice and not allowing any relief for his swelling head.

**_You take ten points of Constitution penalty._**

He’s grabbed by his hair and yanked forward, still mounted on the first. His cry of pain is cut short by the massive cock forced into his lips. He squirms and struggles as he is spitroasted, not even able to bite down on the Troll’s impossibly thick organ. Fear makes him warble and weep, his Strength far less than these three Trolls’ scores combined.

The final Troll comes into play. It possesses the Ranger’s arm that is not wrenched behind him, and the beast forces that once dextrous hand onto his cock, giving the wrist a warning squeeze should the Elf try to let go. Desperately, the Elf attempts to claw or scratch or harm the hot, sweaty flesh but like the one he cannot bite, he does more pleasure than damage.

That Troll rewards him by bending over the Elf to grabs onto one of the nipple rings, pulling down on it to make the prisoner scream again. His strong arm coils around the Elf’s body as his thick nailed finger casually curls into the hoop. It may twist and twine the hoop around his fleshy digit.

The Troll fucking the Elf’s ass releases the leg he’s been holding up as the first signs of sunrise start to arrive. They are all so close to orgasm. He reaches under and grabs the Elf’s erection, squeezing it painfully just as the sun’s light started to fall on all three of them. They cum as their bodies turn to stone, allowing the pleasure to override the pain of death. The Ranger is still securely penetrated between the three of their bodies.

And the Elven Ranger; who had been able to solve so many clever puzzles and challenges with ease, finds himself unable to escape this predicament. His mouth and ass are filled with sand and bits of stone, heavy in his bowels and choking up his airway. His erection is trapped painfully in the tight grip of the stone statue that dominates his ass. He cannot cum and he knows that there is no way to extract him from such enchanted statues. If he is found, he will still waste away to nothing before adequate magical help arrives.

Or perhaps some other enemies find a weakened hero in the woods and unable to defend himself...

\--

Earl is squirming violently against Adam’s hold by the time Cecil has finished his narration. He pants heavily, whining as he tries and fails to get friction, the brunet having wrapped both arms around Earl when he first started to struggle. Earl is painfully hard, shuddering whenever his erection brushes against the fabric of his pants. “Please...please can I...?”

Cecil hums, coyly picking up a D20, spinning it around his fingers before raising his hand up, ready to roll it. “Let’s find out. But remember the negatives your character took…”

The die slips from Cecil’s fingers and lands with a clack onto the table, rolling over the mat before coming to a stop in front of Earl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter summary text shamelessly taken from the Dead Ale Wives comedy sketch. A version of the original can be found on Youtube [here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9Kgx2b1sIRs)
> 
> Jathis is currently doing a smut project that is interactive. You can help write the story. If you're interested, [please check it out!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4685759/chapters/10696172)
> 
> And sadly, we plan to take a bit of a hiatus from DoD for the first half of October. The reason for this is that Safetypants is taking a road trip across parts of Canada and the US. Many driving and lots of not writing will happen. But if you're [along the route](http://dangersocks.tumblr.com/post/127916459851/just-over-one-month) and not ashamed to meet such a depraved individual, [drop Safetypants a note on Tumblr.](http://dangersocks.tumblr.com/ask/) She will bring you Mountain Dew.
> 
> \-----------------
> 
> Bonus: Earl keeps changing his eye colour on the character sheet and so now he has two mismatched eyes. XD 
> 
> Thanks again for joining us. If you are gamers, may you leave your DMs pulling at their hair and gnashing their teeth. If you are DMs, may your players always live in fear.


	31. The Darkest Before the Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Out of the sick Gothic night, our eyes are opened to the glorious touch of the sun." - Rabelais

“How did you get out of your cage, little bird?” Carlos asks, slick as syrup. Cloying.

Earl shivers as he faces the sink in the dark kitchen. A cupboard has been opened, but he has yet to take a glass out. He is thirsty. But now he is wondering if this is a game. If Carlos’ sudden arrival and question constitutes as play. He wants it to be.

Desperately.

“I asked you something,” Carlos states when the silence is longer than his liking. The sound of his bare feet is heard upon linoleum.

Earl turns around, but he drops his eyes immediately down. It isn’t even a choice. The gaze is dragged to the floor. If he could look at Carlos, he could confirm this impromptu game is just that -- play. But he finds himself inspecting his bare toes as they scrunch in the dark. He folds his hands together to hide something else that wants a chance to be noticed.

“I can’t be held by cages,” Earl murmurs, less strongly than he would like.

“Birds belong in cages until they’re needed,” Carlos snorts, now fully approaching the other. “Are you challenging that?”

Lashes brush against flushing, freckled cheeks. Earl looks demure. Shy. He would give ground, it only being a few inches before he’s caught against the counter.

To the sharp eyes of the scientist, the ginger’s behaviour is showing the start of confusion. He is asking why he cannot make eye contact. He is going to remember himself. Those damn words that give him strength and identity. So Carlos moves swiftly, stepping forward to snag the other by the throat. He presses his thumb against the front of the -- fucking trucker -- Adam’s apple and he repeats. “Little red birds belong in cages...to wait for the light.”

Earl doesn’t fight. He listens to his heart fluttering like a bird in the cage of his ribs. It is shallow, and scared. Meek. His fingers are meek, too, reaching up to clutch at the lab coat sleeves. There are ways to escape the hold but not ways to escape the truth.

A Voice demands it. Old and spoken a long, long time ago…

“Kneel, and show us how good of a bird you are, Early…” Carlos whispers.

Earl wishes the space behind him were a wall. He’d fall into it. Needs contact with the back of his head. His mouth is dry and he is thirsty. He swallows and feels the hand on his front. Breathing is optional. Breathing is a choice. Not like the command he is given.

He slides down until the hand on his neck cannot sustain itself. Those hands replace the airway they had once held by claiming the fiery strands of Earl’s hair. A generous portion of it twists between fingers, winding to the roots. Earl’s head is yanked forward, forcibly shoved into Carlos’ covered crotch.

“Did you miss this?” hums the dark man, smiling.

Earl cannot nod, but he brings his wrists, bones feeling hollow and as fragile as a flying animal’s, and settles them upon Carlos’ hips. He is rewarded with a slap against his ear. It is a hard strike. Dazing.

Earl stiffens, stunned.

“Hands flat on the wall behind you,” hisses the Dom.

Earl obeys without question, hurt that he had deserved to be struck. He kneels in the tight space between the sink and his Master, trying to be on his best behavior. His digits splay behind him. Carlos taps Earl’s folded knees with his shoe, demanding they open. Part. He still commands Earl’s head with white gloves.

Then, Earl’s other head feels the press of a boot. He whines in fear, or groans in need. It’s all very confusing. His jaw cracks wide and he pants hot air against Carlos’ crotch. “Ngh…”

“Beg for it,” murmurs the beautiful man with all the power. “Beg for the chance.”

Earl warbles. He weeps, producing “please” and “sorry” and “promise to be good for you” as the smell of sex becomes overwhelming. He had only been getting a drink. But now, now he may have something else.

Carlos grins, toothy and perfect and toothy. Inside his coat, he wears nothing. And pulling open the pristine covering, his golden cock is revealed. He presses it, aroused and shining, at Earl’s face. “Now. Do it now.”

Earl looks up, eyes empty and obliging. He lives only to serve, but still weeps.

Everything is perfe--

\--

Carlos thinks he might have screamed, but it is the clatter and jerk of his body that rouses the others.

Cecil is the fastest, hair skewed and eyes wide, nearly glowing in the dark. Earl rouses slower, with a glazed expression before belatedly recognizing that he has morning wood. He tiredly pulls a sheet over it.

Adam, having had a dream about his next job, rubs at his face before coming to full alertness. Carlos has vacated the bed, and Cecil is quietly whispering that things are okay. Are they okay? And finally, “Carlos, you’re good.”

But it is Earl’s lack of concern that catches the truck driver. “Hey, Harlan…”

“Maybe we could take care of…” Earl sheepishly motions at his need and Adam frowns. Potential crisis here, and Earl’s seemingly unaware of it.

“Sure,” Adam hums. “Though when was the last time you went out to the wilderness to do your rituals?”

He pays close attention to the momentary show of distaste on Earl’s features.

He knows Cecil’s watching, too. He looks over at the Voice and their eyes lock for a few seconds before he turns his attention back to Earl. He and Cecil are both thinking the same thing and he takes it upon himself to vocalize it for them both. “Earl, we need to go to the desert.”

“There’s other things to take care of now,” Earl whispers, looking down at his erection, rolling his hips forward slowly, as if he had not heard their meaning and wanted to convey his own secret first.

Cecil clears his throat and grabs his multicoloured house coat for Carlos. It’s best if he sorts out the scientist’s problem downstairs. No doubt the Secret Police have already been notified. Carlos has been good about going to his sessions.

“Earl.” Adam waits for the redhead to look at him before speaking again. Those mismatched eyes had followed Carlos out. “I think you need to come with me to the desert.”

“Will you fuck me there?” Earl asks.

Adam can hear Cecil inhale and not exhale at the door and Adam sighs, slipping out of bed and pulling Earl out after him. “Come on, Harlan. I’ll pack for the trip.”

Carlos puts himself in the lab, refusing to come out until they’ve gone. His head is bowed as he finally meets his partner on the stairs, hugging onto Cecil tightly. Head buried in the Voice’s chest, he trembles as he starts to make Cecil’s pajama shirt wet with his tears.

“Carlos...would you like me to show how good you are?” Cecil asks. He offers the Outsider a small smile when he takes a step back to look up at him and he rests his forehead against Carlos’. “Okay?”

“...Okay.”

“I’ll call the Sheriff and we’ll take you down later if you want. But for now, it’s just me and you.”

\--

They walk into the desert. Driving would have been faster, but strapping Earl into the passenger seat isn’t the best way to turn off the excitement. They plan to focus on keeping the ginger’s mind off of his arousal.

“It aches.”

“You like the ache.”

A sigh. “Adam, I know this is important, but I’ve been busy. Work, and spending time with all of you…”

“Harlan, your excuses make you sound like a Cub Scout.”

They march, boots sinking into the uneven sands of the Wastelands.

“I wasn’t even the one having the bad dream,” mutters the ginger.

Adam decides that it is too much effort to lean over to smack his partner. “A threat came up and you hardly noticed it. You’ve got a connection to the Smiling God too, and we need to fix that. As much as I want to strap you down and take advantage of your freckled body, I also want you willing.”

“I am,” Earl blushes. “And that sounds like a good way to spend the time out here.”

Adam scowls. “That’s not you talking. If I were Kevin...”

“But you’re not,” Earl snaps. He eyes a cactus ahead of them so he doesn’t have to look at his companion.

“No, I know you very well. And I don’t recognize you when you get distracted. You become someone Kevin may claim to know more. I don’t like that. And I don’t like how you’ve been letting your rituals slide. I’m here to help, but you have to be the one interested in being independent. More assertive in saying when and where you’ll let your body submit. You’re a good sub, Earl. But you’re not a submissive at all times. You’re a Scout, and a person. That means being multi-faceted. These rituals help you separate your life into compartments that you can manage. Vulnerability when it is appropriate. Power when you need to protect your partners. Choose when to be in the cage, and let no bonds hold you unless you…”

“God.” Earl stops at the mention of cages, a strange look caught on his face. Adam catches a twitch. A shiver. “God, Carlos said something...we were asleep. I forgot until you brought it up. Cages, or birds. I was thirsty and…”

Adam scrunches his face, close to some kind of warning. It niggles at his mind.

Earl wears a similar expression, finally catching the seriousness of their trek. “If I was having the same dream as Carlos, he would have every right to be upset. Adam, we should go back and check up on them.”

The brunet shakes his head. “A moment ago, you said --”

“That we’re having shared dreams. And that’s a sign that something could happen, soon. Like the sun changing again. And we need to go back to the house.”

Adam shifts so he blocks the way, not that Earl couldn’t go around. The symbolism of the move is important, though. “I dreamed that I have to report to work again soon. And it feels like an extended trip. So that is all the more reason I want to see you complete the rituals.”

“But…”

“Earl,” Adam interrupts. “Listen to yourself. Really listen to yourself. You aren’t even properly invoking the right Masters. When you stopped and swore, you said ‘God’. Not ‘Gods.’ Just now, and it may not be the first time.”

Adam considers the look on Earl’s face. It is on the verge of being haunted. A start of recognizing how one’s own soul no longer matches the identity painstakingly crafted out of a lifetime of work. The trucker takes some solace in the fact that Earl’s attention is no longer on having sex.

“We’ll do this together,” Adam offers. “And we’ll only come back when we’re certain you’ve got it under control. And then, we’ll fuck you silly.”

The ginger nods. “I don’t feel proud or terrified. Mostly...impatient. Just...I’m not proud of resisting. And I’m not scared for me.”

“We’re proud of you, and scared,” Adam states. “And you’re still stalling, Harlan. Hup two…”

Earl snorts, but allows himself to be led further along.

\--

A beep comes from his phone, and Adam pulls it out. Cecil.

_How are things?_

Twilight is beginning to hum along the horizon. Adam eyes it warily, not sure if they’ve had enough hours to get Earl in the right mindset. There are some clouds but not nearly enough to break the strength of the sun when it breaches.

How are things?

He lets his eyes slide across to Earl, who sits with the proper markings on his skin. The freckles connect the charcoal lines perfectly, a dot-to-dot that copies scripture. The old sayings in grimoires and City Hall pamphlets. It’s heartening to see that some parts of Earl remember the old teachings.

Adam stays close but tries to be unobtrusive with his watching. As much as this is a test for Earl, Adam’s predatory instincts could undo all the work if it distracts his favourite target.

He replies quietly. _Wanting to be optimistic. How is Carlos and yourself?_

The reply comes fast, as if mostly typed already.

_Hope you don’t mind but I borrowed that table you made for some time with Carlos. He doesn’t want to Dom for a bit._

Adam nods. He had planned for the group to have a scene where a sub is tied down under the low lying furniture. The legs were reinforced so limbs could be strapped to them. A person could lie on their back with their cock pulled through a glory hole in the top. Anyone could toy with the flesh as the submissive squirmed helplessly below.

It had been an attempt to remove Earl’s focus from the others, blocking them from view without blinding him completely. For Cecil, it would create a good fixture for the worship of a specific body part.

 _I don’t mind_ , he types.

_Good, it fits both of us under it._

Now Adam frowns, because the table should be room enough to cover only one. He tries to imagine the wriggling it would take to squeeze two in. Especially if one’s cock were still connected to the wood. Cecil would never hurt Carlos, so it is probably a feat of acrobatics that the brunet couldn’t imagine until seen. The kisses and the connection of skin on skin.

The sun breaches the horizon, washing them in the first of yellow light. The clouds above flare in negative colours. Shadows waver in fear and Adam readies himself to pull a confused and affected Earl into the shelter of the tent behind them.

Earl, though, hardens his face. He tightens his jaw and does not shiver.

 _Sun just rose. How’s Carlos?_ Adam asks.

 _Sleeping_ , comes a chime. _Earl?_

Adam strides over, pulling a soft rope from his pocket. Earl’s eyes are shut but he breathes steadily. Meditation. Adam has a loop crafted when he kneels behind the other and snags one wrist in a hold. He brings it to the other when the first slips free. Then Earl is rolling back, knocking Adam’s legs out from under him. When he tucks his head to keep from knocking it badly on the sand, he finds Earl squatting on his chest. A blade hovers under Adam’s chin.

“Sex?” Adam asks, innocently. Unaffected.

Earl reaches back to the phone Adam had dropped, rolling off. “Maybe soon. Can I text Cecil back that I’m fine?”

“I appreciate you asking,” Adam hums. “And yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, sorry for the delay. And for mostly plot, if it bothers you. Some of us said goodbye to family this week. And some of us were out of town.
> 
> If you are reading this, please know that you are special and loved.


	32. Desert Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein there is implied amputation and cannibalism.
> 
> And there are centaur
> 
> And an owl

Earl is safe.

He knows this. But once established, the thought settles on the floor of his mind and he lets himself explore.

His imagination runs free while his physical body remains trapped to the post in the desert. Under the harsh glare of the sun his knees jut out, thighs tightly bound by leather belts to his calves. His legs are spread wide open by the hot metal of a spreader bar. It takes little for the ginger to think of the stretch hurting. His head is in a collar, snagged to the post.

It is simple to think of a noose if he fights it. It will strangle him.

His heart quickens and fear shoots rich blood to his groin. He moans, unable to help himself. Hydrated, he pretends not to be. Parched. Suffering under the orb that fuzzes in one corner of the sky.

Across the landscape, the only feature of other life is the tent. Inside, the hum of grinding metal sings, drowning out the song of the sun. Adam is sharpening his vicious tools.

Sweat slips down Earl’s bare skin. He whines softly. His freckles are fiercely guarded by sunblock. In his head, it is starting to burn. He reinvents the circumstances that had led to his clothes being cut away. He is naked and defenseless, perhaps betrayed by the handsome stranger he had met in his travels. He doesn’t know where he is now. One mention of how his relations do not know of his journey had led to a strike to the head and him toppling. Pinned. Made to allow hot teeth to mark his neck and a hand pushing down his pants before he is unconscious.

Waking, his pants had been gone. He feels the rough post buried deeply behind him, splitting his ass cheeks as his genitals are mercilessly exposed. He imagines his limp body being fastened to this spot. His assailant could have touched him. His nipples ache, perhaps from prolonged fondling. That mouth again? His cock is trapped in cords of leather and sounded. He doesn’t know what invades his ass but if he shifts or tenses, something is in it. The post ensures it stays in and fighting only makes things burn.

Had it been laced with some kind of irritant?

The horrible metal shearing continues. Earl inhales shakily. He licks his lips.

“Are you thirsty?”

The question is curious. Inquirous. Earl can also hear it gruffly, with a mocking cruelty. Adam wants him to prove he’s fine. The brunet stands inside the tent flap and expects a safeword. His shirt is open and his abdomen shines from exertion.

“Please let me olive,” Earl gasps.

Adam wipes his arms on a cloth and then shoves it into his pant line. “Yes, use your words to negotiate,” he slurs. “If you fight you’ll just hurt yourself. And I don’t want you to be tough to chew.”

“Oh shit,” Earl swears. His ass aches as he squirms at the comment. His eyes sting as his character tries and fails to understand the horror of the threat. “Please...please you can’t!”

Adam strolls away casually, returning to Earl’s limited view as he pulls on a sweat-stained apron. The handle of what appears to be a hacksaw props out of its lone pocket. “Who says I can’t? Though I won’t make it fast. You have beautiful limbs. I want to savour that.”

“Oh Gods,” Earl exhales, forcing himself to do honour to the Masters by pluralizing the word. He is rewarded by the exquisite flip-flop his stomach does. The moan this provokes is pathetic.

Adam hums as he approaches, the handle of the saw fondled by a calloused hand. Then the tool is out, tracing lightly over the freckles of Earl’s shoulder. It barely touches Earl’s flesh, but the skin puckers as the captive attempts to hold back shivers.

“I must be so lucky, finding someone with such a delicious looking body out here, hmm? I was starting to worry.”

The tool drops out of Earl’s line of sight. The collar forces him to stare at the tent, no doubt full of archaic horrors. Earl’s tongue is thick and trips over the “pleases” and “nos” as he feels the prick of the weapon grazing up the underside of his prick.

Immediately, the sweaty cloth pries into Earl’s mouth. Adam’s fingers shove it deep until it hooks against the corners of the surprised Earl’s jaw. “I will use a bit gag, like animals have. It won’t keep you from crying. You are music when you cry. Did you know that?”

Nostrils flare as Earl represses a gag reflex. The vein of his cock is traced by sharp metal, so close that Earl dares not breath. His eyes fixate on the tent.

Adam’s thumb scoops up a testicle where its skin shows over the leather lashing constraining it. The thumb also hooks on the blade handle and a simple swipe would gouge the meat away. Earl trusts Adam to manipulate the edge of the rusted-sharp weapon as he multitasks. The brunet leans in to nip at Earl’s lower lip with his teeth. He pants hungrily, aggressively, and smugly. Earl whimpers his rejection, trying to push the dirty cloth out.

Adam pushes in with his weight. The only opening Earl has is to shift his collared neck slightly. It allows him to butt heads against his assailant. Not enough for damage, and his bondage wouldn’t grant him escape. The action is a satisfactory resistance nonetheless. He is surprised when the saw drops into the sand in order for Adam to give him a backhand. Then, the brunet slaps at the constrained cock.

Earl cries out, mostly free of his gag. It is heavy with saliva and cottons up his mouth.

The brunet plays at enraged. “You little bastard. I will make your butchering last weeks.”

“You are sick,” Earl hisses, the salty cloth slipping from his lips finally, accompanied by drool. “Fuck yo--”

The word is stopped by teeth closing around his jugular. Adam sucks at the flesh under the collar, using the force to strangle the statement. The hacksaw is picked from the sand and returns to Earl. This thigh this time. Up and down. The metal braises skin.

It drifts away only once, to tweak at the pin that has been driven into Earl’s urethra. The ginger warbles, the sound leading the mouth at his throat to grin.

“Maybe I’ll let you live it out,” Adam hums. “How’s that? You can become my little limbless fuck pillow. I’d even wash you and feed you and keep you alive.”

“Fuuuuuuck,” Earl whines, eyes stinging as his insides knot.

“I think I’ll start with your arms. Use hooks to truss your meat together when I remove the wrists first. Maybe each finger. Eventually, you’ll only be able to sit up with a rope around your neck, and a harness keeping you just barely breathing.”

“Sick fuck,” Earl whispers, trying to shake his head. He winces as a cheek is kissed. Adam breathes heavily on Earl, joyously playing the depraved and lustful maniac.

Earl drinks it in. He is dizzy with false fear. His cheeks burn as he loses himself in continuing the thought.

Metal caps could be welded to his painful amputations. Then those could have him stretched across the ground. A bit gag and his torso is reduced to a surface for his awful master to place his head. At any time, Adam could straddle his face and fuck his mouth when it’s gagged with an open-mouthed apparatus. Maybe there’s milking to be had in the desert. As Adam hunts, his toy is left sitting with all manners of things up his ass, his own weight bearing him down onto them with no ability to catch himself or move. Maybe he’ll be made to take fluids if he tries to die.

Maybe he’ll be fed parts of himself. Made to watch those parts of himself toyed with, entertaining his keeper. The shearing of limbs from his body. His wounds cauterized as the monster flashes his teeth at his screams. The hungry kisses as he wails, his sweat gaining semen if Adam enjoys the show too much…

“What colour is my tent?”

Adam presses their foreheads together, cupping Earl’s chin with one hand. A coarse thumb caresses Earl’s cheek.

A long moment stretches. Just like Earl, a body greatly reduced and used for malice and sex. Never growing used to the torture that…

“Earl. What colour is the tent?”

Adam unlatches the hook keeping the collar pinned and his hand redirects the fiery haired figure to look directly at the structure. He keeps a close eye on Earl’s gaze as it becomes less glassy. More eye movements and a scrunching of brows.

“It’s…”

The hesitation is enough to drag Adam out of the scene. He drops the dulled saw again, letting the freed palm lie across the front of Earl’s chest. He refrains from cursing when he finds the skin hot. Too hot.

“Tan. It’s...no. Olive. I’m good. Let’s…”

“No, Earl. I’m sorry.”

The ginger swallows. He huffs, cheeks flaring. More now out of embarrassment.

Adam drops himself to snatch the cooler hidden out of Earl’s line of sight, just behind the post. Inside is water. Mocha wafers. A sunhat stolen from an old friend.

“No, I’m sorry. We can keep going?” murmurs Earl.

Adam shakes his head. “Say your charms. I wouldn’t feel right leaving you tomorrow if our session wasn’t successful. I can’t negotiate another extension from doing my shipment.”

“But I had it,” Earl whines. “And I’m so hard.”

“Good,” Adam contends, laying the sunhat on the top of the post. It is wide enough to shield the one beneath it. “Use your meditations to prove that you can come down from this arousal. I’ll be right here so you don’t overheat. If you can do it in the sun, you can do it anytime.”

The jaw clenches, before finally accepting a cookie. “If I manage, can we still do something that finishes itself before you go on your trip?”

Adam snorts, carefully extracting the sounding rod. He begins to loosen the cock’s trappings as well. “If you can be flaccid by sundown by sheer will alone, I’ll believe you can control your body. And yes, we’ll fuck the cold night away then.”

The Scoutmaster nods, exercising his neck’s freedom. Then he says again, “I’m sorry for failing.”

“You didn’t,” Adam grants. “One step back in any progress is not a sign of failure. Everyone does it. You are not a bad person, nor a bad Scoutmaster, submissive, friend, or once-ritual sacrifice because of this. What matters is what you do now. And I know you’ll make anyone who matters proud.”

“You’re very wise for a depraved fuck,” Earl murmurs.

“I learned a thing or two trying and failing to impress you over the years,” drawls the brunet. “And I’m glad I kept at it. Now, less bonding and more internal chanting.”

“Yes, Sir.”

\--

Earl thinks of tents out in the desert. He thinks of the black places he once had been dragged through. He thinks of worlds Kevin has never touched. Worlds he cannot describe to Cecil and Carlos. Places that Adam will never see.

It takes work to reign in his body. He does it, though. But it takes work…

\--

The post is gone when he is tied up again. This time he is frogtied inside the tent with a dildo platform-gagging him so none can hear his cries.

Adam has cummed on him. Now, the seed dries in the heat of a fire and the brunet sits with the ginger’s notebook in his lap, flipping pages. Earl growls from behind his gag as he squirms. He could easily untie himself if he needed to. The pose is nice, though. Not nearly as extreme as before, but enough to be distressing.

Also, at some point in the night, a desert owl had wandered into the tent. It nestles in the discarded sunhat by Adam’s knee. Large yellow eyes judge the pair. Owls judge everyone, though.

Earl drools around the edge of his dildo, writhing against the strap digging between his ass cheeks and chafing against his testicals.

Adam picks a page and then quietly tells stories. The last one had made Adam climax. Temporarily sated, he teases his partner with a centaur returning to the Elf it had clubbed. When the time is right, he’ll dig out the milking apparatus that Earl doesn’t know about. He could try to cull Earl of his seed, offering the milk to the king of centaurs. Perhaps Adam will have pleased the beast so well that the ginger could be taken along instead of dragged to his death. Only special slaves would be preserved and transported by slinging them under their masters. Each instance of galloping would have the massive centaur cock pounding into the positioned ass of the elf strapped below it.

For now, Adam’s fictional hunter keeps his new prize preparing for such a future. The owl’s arrival is easily transposed as an omen that the centaur's enterprise will be blessed.

The story weaves around Earl. Even he would admit that it feels different from before. As if a switch were waiting in his head. One that only he could have. If he turned it off, the power of Adam’s words would wane immediately. It may even work against the Voice.

He whines, clenching around the rope against his hole. He gnaws against the rubber of the cock in his throat.

The page turns and Adam scribbles notes in. About the exhausted Elf covered in sweat and semen at the ends of his rides. Cut free and dropped pathetically on the ground. He will be too exhausted to escape. They’ll trade places, pulling their mewling prisoner under other flanks. Only when there’s a risk of ruining him permanently is he given to nearby farmers to work in a field like the other beasts of burden.

Maybe there will be a dark skinned plow animal with a kind smile, but a large girth. The Elf may wish to save such a slave…

\--

In the morning, there are dead things left at the tent opening. The owl has offered a trade for ownership of the headwear it fluffs itself in. The content creature only reacts to wake the one she calls hunt-face when red-one starts to extract himself from the knots.

“What? Oh,” hunt-face stretches. “Can I massage those thighs?”

Red-one contorts to free his legs. “That’d be nice.”

Hunt-face stops when owl flusters about. “Geez, what’s...no, it’s fine he’s free. Did you really believe the centaur thing?”

He is judged extra hard by a golden glare.

“It’s just stories.”

Red-one cracks his neck and flushes as hunt-face reverently scoops up an ankle. “Maybe she should see the book. I’m pretty certain owls can read.”

Of course owls can read, owl chirps haughtily.

Hunt-face cracks the book open and settles it before the bird. This he manages as he kneads a hand around an arch of a foot. There are indentations where red-one’s bindings had dug in and hunt-face plans to make those vanish. He doesn’t watch the hunting bird staring at the mess of words.

Apparently the red-one and the hunt-face humans have odd stories. They watch as owl begins to scratch at the ground giving them a tale that owl prefers. About good hunts and odd things in the night. She hops around the fire, twittering as her little chest heaves.

The two were Eternal Scouts and they understand and are polite. Red-one lies tiredly. Hunt-face gives owl some attention, but keeps fixing the places he hurt on the other like a counter-productive squirrel.

Then owl eventually works up the nerve to shyly ask if one of her stories can go in the book. Owls don’t normally write in books. The red-one nods but is not allowed to get up to write. The hunt-faced one will not let him. He pulls the other’s freckled legs into his lap and continues rubbing them while dictating with his other hand. “Go on.”

The owl tells a story about when she met a hawk and a crow and how they were both very silly but cared about one another. Also, they had a sparrow and a raven back home that were never going to talk to a magpie. Then suddenly, centaurs become a feature. Owl thinks the elf that is no longer real should be bred with the dark-skinned plow slave.

The following details of how this would work makes hunt-face drop his writing tool and red-one shift and mutter ancient chants. Owl is certain that means owl’s story is good.

She gets judgemental again when the men start to cook the meat she’s left them. Humans are disgusting, she thinks as she scarfs down some raw innards. Her demonstration does not encourage them to try and so she settles into the sunhat and turns her back on them.

Hunt-face attempts only once to get the nest back, gently asking first. She bites him. Red-one laughs and she gets to keep the hat.


	33. Bromantic Puppy Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a smut request for you. 
> 
> You may not have recalled making a request, but you request a lot of things in your life. Some things are reasonable. Others are not. You’re not sure which this qualifies as. A general rule you follow is to not be sure of anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer** : M-Preg and bestiality kinks follow. If that's not your favourite kind of sandwich please proceed with caution, or find something else to do. I recommend a highly addicting [2048 game](http://gabrielecirulli.github.io/2048/).
> 
> Secondly, this is Safetypants' attempt at a request and SP apologizes if it is not up to snuff. This is snuff that Safetypants and Jathis aren't naturally drawn to. If the point of the fetish has been horribly missed, please let SP know how and why. Your fetishes are valid. They just aren't always the same as ours. And that's okay. We appreciate your readership, you lovely human being.
> 
> Thirdly and lastly...next week will be the last chapter in a little while. SP is taking a trip and will not be able to write in that time. Upon SP's return, the rest of October will involve working very hard at real jobs to make the trip one that was not a financial disaster.
> 
> If anyone wants a postcard from Adam, contact [SP through secure Tumblr ask.](http://dangersocks.tumblr.com/ask/)

This is a smut request for you.

 

You may not have recalled making a request, but you request a lot of things in your life. Some things are reasonable. Others are not. You’re not sure which _this_ qualifies as. A general rule you follow is to not be sure of anything.

 

One of these things you aren’t sure of is whether males can have children. More specifically, whether breeding subs can have puppies. You’ve skipped the part of whether they _should_ have puppies. What they want isn’t important.

 

What you want is.

 

So this is a smut request for you.

 

You are an observer. You’ve always been an observer and you are good at it. If you had to be a part of the scene you would likely be a scientist.

 

You don’t think you are attractive. Not like _other_ scientists. Perhaps you haven’t heard it enough so let me be the first to say: you look good today. You really do. If you are in pajamas, they look comfortable and comfortable is a good look. You wear comfort better than our sub. If you are out and about, relax. You are stunning and you can put any self-conscious concerns to rest. Are you naked? You’ve got a very fine body. Good job on that! Your genetics and your self-care are working.

 

In this story, you’re an observer. You dress as awesome as you want. A feather, perhaps? You can have all the feathers. You’ve made a request before the story began and now you are a scientist with a clipboard. A guest to a study.

 

You’re filling the role of a scientist because the other beautiful scientist is playing the part of a vet. And the vet has done some very interesting and impossible things with a popular local breeder in fullfilling this request. They’ve taken a local mutt good for little more than pleasing his master, and they’ve found a way to breed the poor thing.

 

You are led into a garage. The breeder’s truck takes up the corner of the space. It’s back is open and you see boxes and tools pulled to easy access on the edge. In its shadow, a heavy breeding apparatus dominates the floor. It’s thick black iron frames a freckled body. The mutt’s head is strapped over a platform that firmly secures his collar. His wrists shackle to the base of the post. Some adjustments have been made to the back. The apparatus would normally brace against the mutt’s hips keeping his ass accessable, knees knocked open by a spreader bar and feet trapped to his thighs. Now, the second bar is missing. Leather bands encircle the mutt’s thighs on either side, rising up to suspend from the ceiling. He is lifted so nothing obstructs the belly.

 

It’s clear to see why.

 

“We’ve been experimenting,” the vet proudly says, vacating the chair that has been left for you. “Chemicals mixed in food have made this runt receptive to the seeds of visiting breeders. His owner’s a fan of showing off his mongrel and for the worthless thing’s sake, it was only a matter of time before dear old Master became bored. Fortunately, the concept of a litter has kept his interest. We’ve gotten some lovely access to funds through this. A few unusual tests later and we’ve found a way to make a mutt previously incapable of carrying ripe for it.”

 

You take the vacated seat, pleased at the warmth of it. You hear the mutt whine as the vet talks, but for the presence of a ball gag silences most of the disagreement. Tubes slip from one end of the gag to a machine.

 

“Nutrients,” the vet chirps for you when he sees your attention. “Keeps the mutt fed and off his hunger strike. He needs his strength now that he is carrying.”

 

You nod because it is expected of you. Your ankles cross. The long coat of the vet swishes against the garage floor as he circles the mutt.

 

“We counted a dozen pups with the latest ultrasound,” he continues. “Most should be alike, though the breeding process had been...well…”

 

“Aggressive,” announces the breeder. He joins you both from a door that leads into the house. A plate holding a sandwich is balanced precariously in one calloused hand. “We waited for the chemicals to peak and for our bitch here to be needy. Then we brought in interested parties and gave them all a shot. I didn’t expect so many of my old friends to respond to the emails. Turns out a chance to bang a beast like this is a bit of a novelty.”

 

The vet nods. “A very exciting time for all of us, isn’t that right?” He leans over the trapped mutt and drapes an arm around his middle. Sterile gloves of the vet’s left hand land on the belly. His right reaches down to jostle the thing’s cock.

 

You did not see it before, what with the suspended thigh in your way. Now, you tilt your head and see an organ tightly constrained. The whimper that follows is mournful, but unimportant. Your focus falls more on the vet’s fingers splaying on the distending belly. You watch the fingers firmly pressing in and feeling out each and every little life inside.

 

“We’re not sure what will happen, as no one has successfully managed to breed without a bitch. His body is adjusting in strange ways to the drugs. It can’t always be comfortable but we keep him strapped in for his own safety.”

 

The breeder nods. “Dumb things always try to get away. In his state, he wouldn’t get far. We’ve had to be very liberal with our punishments in the meantime.”

 

You pull your feet under your chair, letting your thighs tense as the clipboard you brought lies flat across the warmth of your legs. You find their words fascinating as they allude to previous events. You also know that if you are feeling aroused at the implications, it is not something you will be judged for. You are an observer, after all.

 

The pair work for your curiosity.

 

The ginger dog tries to glance at you, but his head is fixed in one place. His eye lolls desperately to the side, but you are not here to help him. He’s exactly where he should be and you are glad to witness it.

 

The vet wears a strict line on his face as he slides his grip up the torso of his project. Ribs shiver as the gloves trace them. Then the nipples are pinched, encouraging a muffled yelp. “We’ve got plans to move onto a new stage and I hope you’ll be around for that.”

 

The smile that the vet flashes you is dazzling.

 

The breeder snorts around a mouthful. He talks regardless. “He can’t be milked yet. Not through his chest at least. Those places are sensitive, though. We might put implants in. At least give the babes a decent simulation.”

 

“If he survives,” the vet adds. He does not sound concerned. “The stress of a dozen puppies may be too much. It’s why we’ve started our tests with an expendable pup. I do intend to see this through, and if we can’t promote a natural extraction through his rectal hole, my companion is very good at cutting. We’ll extract them through the belly.”

 

He talks over the protesting mewls of his subject.

 

The breeder is licking mustard from his fingers while circling now, too. He kneels at the back of the pup, telling you, “Just in case plan-A goes off, we’ve been keeping his ass greased and stretched. It’s still a few weeks away from the big day but we want that muscle perfect. We’ve noticed that his prostate is also swollen. It’s very easy to turn those growls into groans.”

 

You listen to a demonstration. The whine remains in the mutt’s voice, high and breathy. The ropes that keep his lower body suspended squeak and jostle where chains affix to the ceiling structures.

 

The vet returns to prodding at the animal’s stomach. “A small bulge is visible now. It will grow. He’ll stretch and bloat. We’ll get more accurate accounts from fondling and won’t need to resort to the ultrasounds. It is my hope by then that our subject grows complacent in his part in this. Would you like to feel?”

 

You shake your head politely. You are only here to observe and sitting off to the side with your thighs taut is a nice feeling.

 

This you do, but you can’t help your mind from wandering. After all, you observe best when you think of the ordeal that must be afflicting the pet. Empathy, perhaps.

 

You think of the helpless bondage the mutt feels. The weird and incomprehensible betrayal of his body. How he loses his memory of being free and human the longer he is kept. These are foolish things for him to recall, so far from his reach. He does not let them go, though. It means he cannot quash the shame at how often he begs for being full, or having his cock freed.

 

There are new drugs everyday that leave him hot and cold. Dizzy and hungry. Needy. He sees nothing but the room and only hears love from his Master, who accepts all the lies the vet and the breeder give him. When alone with the pair, the pet listens to these experts hate him. Their cruel plans turning into reality. They had never expected this to work. Now that it has, they wish to see it exploited. If the mongrel survives, they will do this again to him. An experiment does best when repeated.

 

You are acting as a scientist so you know this.

 

And you also know that the growing life inside of his belly is alien and unwelcome to him. Growing and twitching, they will start to press against his inner organs. His bladder will ache. His nipples need to be rubbed and are often ignored. Even his penis swells with blood from mixed signals. Odd chemicals and wrong arousals that the invasions trigger. He does not wish to die with a cold blade carving into his hot insides, spilling out life at the cost of his.

 

Nor does he welcome the sensation of having his legs lowered while a massaging finger encourages him to push grown monstrosities out. His prostate craves it, though. He can’t imagine how he would survive one birth, and then have others immediately follow. A hand would push in to help the bodies escape. The dreaded ordeal could last hours and all of it would be observed. By you, but also by cameras. By a Master unconcerned with his pet’s sanity. After all, there will be more pets. There are more and more and more pets!

 

Will he be allowed to cum or will they ignore his trapped and involuntary erection? If the experiment works, will they strap him back up and let the puppies suck and play on awful implants, nipping at nipples and balls. The vet and the breeder haven’t told you about where all the implants could go...

 

You observe these possibilities as much as you observe the three. The mutt sobs as the breeder picks up a metal anal spreader and plays with it for your benefit. The object shines in the breeder’s hands, a moderate size until he twists the screw on the bottom. It opens up, expanding with no give. The maximum size is impressive and the way the device’s clicking makes the mutt stiffen, you know that the mutt also knows its range perfectly.

 

“I like to leave this in overnight. Sometimes vibrating. We have lots of time,” the breeder sagely promises. A generous portion of gel is squeezed over the metal and then the bottle is squirted obscenely at the dog’s ass. “We appreciate you spending it with us.”

 

You lift your head, not able to look away as the closed device teases its way in. The vet is draping his warm face over the spine of the squirming, tensing and mewling mongrel, hugging the middle once more as he whispers about how fat a dozen pups will soon be. How they’ll grow first before leaving.

 

If you excuse yourself for a moment, you are hardly noticed by any but the desperate pup.

  
  



	34. Wherein Things Happen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a hiatus for a few weeks while Dangersocks battles some wayward eldritch beasts.
> 
> Owl will sit back and drink some tea while watching her.

“I’ve done this lots of times, Earl! It’ll be fine, I promise!” Carlos insisted, smiling as he adjusted himself on top of the other.

The camera zoomed in on the worried expression on Earl’s face, as he tried and failed to hide it against the sheets of the bed. He was lying on with his stomach. “Popping someone’s back has a completely different meaning here…” he mumbled into the mattress.

There was laughter and Cecil struggled to keep the camera steady as he continued to film them. He looked over at Adam, shaking his head. “I don’t think Earl knows how to relax.”

“I do!” Earl snapped, shooting Cecil a glare.

“Prove it then,” Cecil cooed.

Earl sighed and folded his arms, resting his chin on top of them as he stared straight ahead. He breathed slowly as he felt Carlos’ hands running over his back, kneading away a few tight knots. The scientist then rested one palm on top of his other between Earl’s shoulderblades.

“You’re going to do it now?” the Scout asked.

“Are you ready?” Carlos asked.

“...Yes,” Earl whispered. He gasped when Carlos suddenly put all of his weight into his hands, shuddering as he felt his back pop several times before the Outsider let up, going back to rubbing his skin and shoulders at a gentle and slow pace.

“How was that?” Carlos asked.

“That...that was…”

“Early?” Cecil pried.

“That felt nice…” he moaned, smiling as he pushed himself up when Carlos slipped off of his back. “You two should try it!” he insisted, gesturing to Adam and Cecil. The pair looked at each other, Adam raising an eyebrow at Cecil before shrugging his shoulders.

“I’ll let you do it to me?” he offered.

“Okay!”

There was a moment when the camera started to shake, pointed briefly at the ceiling and the floor before Carlos took control, sitting down beside a now relaxed and smiling Earl as Adam laid on his stomach and Cecil climbed onto his back. “Make sure you don’t actually break his back!” Carlos quickly suggested, worrying about Night Valians and their mostly violent nature.

“Darling Carlos!” Cecil chirped, cracking his knuckles. “I watched you do it to Early! I am quite certain I can replicate it!”

“Whatever you say…” Carlos hummed, keeping his thoughts to himself. He watched as Cecil started to use his knuckles to massage Adam’s back, trying to get the Scout to loosen up before making an attempt to pop his spine as Carlos had for Earl.

“Easy...easy...AH!” Adam’s eyes widened and he hissed, clutching the sheets and shuddering as the work made him begin to melt underneath Cecil. “Oh Masters…” he groaned.

“Good?” Cecil asked.

“Surprisingly…” Adam cooed.

“Hey! What do you mean surprisingly?!” Carlos and Earl laughed, climbing onto the bed after setting the camera aside, allowing it to film as the four cuddled with each other.

Carlos wondered if he had ever felt so useful...

\--

Some days are hard to forget, even with the Secret Police’s help.

He hacks the laptop with his knowledge of his boyfriend’s passwords. He does this to be helpful. To be loved for his intelligence. To escape harm.

He does this to be good.

But he can be better. He can do so much more good. He doesn’t remember, exactly. But Carlos also doesn’t forget.

\--

The seismograph sits perfectly still. Calm. Reposed. Carlos glances at it and wonders if it is broken.

After all, the room is shaking. The room is violently shuddering. His lab beakers clink and clatter and he braces on the counter as the machine that should be measuring such things creaks on its legs. The dial stays at rest, though.

On the radio, his boyfriend is experiencing the same. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m now under my very sturdy desk, thank you Adam, and wondering what Carlos and his team’s machines would rate this as. Night Vale has never had an earthquake. Well, we always have earthquakes. We just never feel them! I think the general procedure is the same here, though. Everyone should panic and find shelter and clog up the airwaves with frantic texts to their loved ones. It’s the only sensible thing to do. Are you in an emergency? Text your friends! Are you safe? Take the moment to snap a selfie, as you don’t know how often you will be so fortunate and a picture will help you understand how fleeting your sense of security would be...oh, I just got a text now!”

As the beautiful voice says this, Carlos’ own phone harmonizes with the beakers. It vibrates on the vibrating counter until he picks it up.

A message from Earl. Trouble at the Gorge. I’m there.

Cecil cannot respond. Carlos knows this even as the weather starts to play. The other is the Voice and he cannot leave his booth to check on Earl so it is up to Carlos to go and see what is wrong. For a brief moment he hesitates, leaning against the frame of the doorway, holding his keys tight in his hand.

There is something wrong. He does not know what it is yet but something is very wrong. His stomach twists and turns, threatening to make him vomit. It makes no sense for a scientist to not be fine.

But he is a scientist. A useful, clever scientist. A good...

The teeth of his keys bite the palm of his hand, enraged at being held for so long without being used in a lock somewhere. He flinches, but is forced back into reality, nodding as he risks stepping out and locking the door behind him.

Something is wrong and Carlos needs to see Earl as soon as possible.

***

Carlos locates Earl near the gorge, surrounded by Megan and some of his other Scouts. Carlos tries to remember the calendar they keep at the house. Something on it about a joint venture with the boy and girl groups. He’s spent so much time in his lab lately...

Carlos shakes the idea away. Now is important. Now, the redhead is sitting with one leg tucked in and the other straight in front of him. Everyone looks up when Carlos climbs out of his car and abruptly the Outsider finds himself swarmed with young Scouts, all speaking at the same time to try and tell him what has happened.

“Silence.” Earl’s command is honoured immediately and the redhead sighs as he shakes his head at Carlos. “I’m fine.”

“Earl, what happened?” Carlos asks. The ginger does not look fine. He is pale, his freckles glistening like blood on snow.

“These Scouts were having their annual hunt by the gorge when the quakes started,” Earl explains with a soft hiss. He has adjusted the leg that was kept ahead of him. It is then that Carlos realizes that something must have broken, noting Earl’s pale face and thin lips. He’s done a commendable job of restraining any noises of complaint. Still, it cannot be just a broken bone... “Some rocks started to fall...but I’ve always been proud of my Last Minute Rescue badge. I got everyone away but…”

“One of the boulders fell on his leg!”

“That’s not what happened,” a portly boy mewls. “You fell on the rocks, Sir!”

A few heads nod even as Earl gives the child a glare. A second adds, “Megan tried to grab you.”

“Earl?” Carlos whispers.

The redhead shrugs his shoulders, dismissing it. “Does it matter how it happened?”

“If you’re injured more seriously…”

“I’m sorry for texting everyone,” pants the ginger. “If I worried Cecil or yourself…”

“Earl, you need to go to the hospital!” presses the Scientist. “A fall can mean so much more. A heart jostled loose. Illegal bleeds. A concussion!”

“Carlos, you need to listen to me,” Earl insists as Carlos kneels to check the damage more closely. “Carlos, I don’t want you worried over me. There isn’t time.”

Despite his injuries, Earl snatches Carlos’ hands with his own and his strength is intimidating. “I can live long enough to get to proper care, but right now, Carlos, something is making us feel these quakes. Something exists in the desert and you might be the only one smart enough to find it.”

***

A scientist is always fine.

Carlos says this to himself as he relays the text to Cecil. Earl’s own phone had smashed shortly after he had texted his partners. As his Scouts shift uneasily next to a man keeping something from Carlos, the scientist does his best to explain what he understands:

A force in the desert triggered the quakes. It is affecting Earl’s skills. It is making Carlos uneasy. Coincidence? Causation?

He can be useful here. He can be good.

Carlos swallows, feeling his phone vibrate. Cecil would not want to respond by texts. He never does. “Dearest, brave Carlos! A crew will soon be there to take Earl to the hospital. Turns out the bowling alley is being barricaded. The little people are behaving strangely and Telly is occupied. I would really prefer Earl there, but the ambulance is already eavesdropping and you can’t stop them when they start. I’m on my way. If you’re going out there alone, I’m coming too!”

“Ceec…” Carlos swallows, not wanting to admit that he is afraid. Afraid of what is out there. He’s never anxious about discovery. But oddly enough, he also does not wish for Cecil to be racing over. “I’m concerned about Earl.”

“If his Scouts aren’t worried, or trying to bury him, he should be fine,” huffs the host as he runs. “One time in twelfth grade Earl went out on Street Cleaner Day to return an overdue library book for a girl in the class. Or maybe a guy. But he recovered from--” the call drops.

Carlos turns to regard the ginger who is giving clear instructions to each of the children. The quake has calmed but there may be aftershocks. The Scouts have the required training to tackle the chaos in town. And as Carlos watches on, the first flickering lights of the sirens approach.

“Earl,” the dark skinned man tries again when the pair are alone. With the faceless attendants running towards them with a stretcher, they will not have much time to share the moment. “Is there anything more you will tell me?”

Teeth click closed. Earl appears stable, so his inability to raise his eyes may not be from lack of strength. “I lost my balance because for a moment...I swore I was back there. Waking from a dream in Kevin’s bed. But...it vanished as quickly. You didn’t feel it?”

Carlos shakes his head. “A seizure in the middle of a quake?”

“I wish it proves to be so,” Earl murmurs tonelessly. He is scooped up by the paramedics. “We’re not by any official dates for...for Strex. And I’ve been unaffected since…”

“Yeah,” Carlos nods, reaching out to brush fingers with Earl.

The other’s hand is alarmingly clammy. Their fingers unclench as Carlos’ insides tighten. That feeling again. Of dread. Of a knowledge so big he has been under it all along, just not seeing it right. An optical illusion of sorts. If Carlos lets his awareness refocus…

He will See. And that’s…

“Terrifying.”

He exhales this as he becomes alone. Staring into the wastes as the ambulance whirs away with the one who trusts him. And who he’s hurt so many times before...

The town is still in danger, though.

Like always in such cases, Cecil is not far behind.

\--

Carlos’ phone goes off just as he sees Cecil’s car approaching. He holds up a hand in the air, waving to catch Cecil’s attention. He sighs as Cecil pulls up in front of him, clicking his teeth together as he moves to climb into the passenger seat. “Hey, Cecil.”

“The ambulance came and picked him up?” Cecil asked, watching as Carlos set up an app on his phone, placing it on the dashboard to allow him to follow the map on the screen.

“Yeah, he’ll be okay,” Carlos assured him. “This app should lead us to one of the seismographs set up in the desert. Once we find one, we should be able to pinpoint the source of all of this.”

“Neat!” Cecil chirps as they drive through the sands, following the arrow of the app. “I’m sure that this will all be concluded easily! Adam will be so sad he missed this!” he giggled.

“Right...Adam’s in Kentucky right now, yeah?” Carlos asked.

Cecil wrinkled his nose a little, shaking his head. “No! He’s in Ken-Tu-Cuh-Key!” Carlos gave Cecil a look but bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from correcting him. “Perhaps once we’ve figured out everything we could go and call him from the hospital! A nice little group chat for everyone, hm?”

“That would be nice,” Carlos agreed. “A chance to show that everyone is safe and okay again.”

“Precisely!”

They drive on in silence. Carlos keeps an eye on his phone, frowning to himself. He finds himself being vaguely familiar with where they’re going and yet he cannot remember the last time he went out to the desert like this. Why would he remember such small details about this patch of sand and heat?

So much heat.

So much.

Warmth…

Carlos doesn’t realize he had blacked out until he hears Cecil announcing that they’ve found it. He snaps back into reality and he watches as the Voice turns the car off, turning to him. “Hm?”

“Are you ready to save the day?” Cecil asks.

“Yes...sure…”

They step out of the car and approach the seismograph and as they approach Carlos already knows that something is very wrong with it. It is black and it is covered in golden symbols. Cecil’s eyes widen and he turns to Carlos, shaking his head. “I don’t understand...why would this be covered in symbols for that Smiling God?! Didn’t you make this, Carlos?”

And Carlos could only nod his head as he stared at it. So this had been what he had been working on, focusing on this and nothing else. No wonder he was unable to remember anything about his recent project in his lab. “This is my fault,” he whispered. “This is all my fault again.”

“Carlos!” He flinches and looks up at Cecil, biting his lower lip as the Voice fixes him with a stern glare. “You are good and you are loved. Something has happened but we will fix it together as we always have before. You are such a smart scientist, Carlos. You can do this. I believe in you and Earl loves you.”

Cecil’s words weave around him, taking effect and bringing Carlos back into reality. He knows that Cecil is right and he knows that however the Smiling God found a way to influence him; he had people who loved and supported him. With his newfound focus, Carlos turned back to the box he had built without knowing he was building it and he crouched down to look it over and try to find its purpose. It took awhile but eventually Carlos figured it out. “Oh God…”

“Carlos?”

“The Smiling God was trying to pass through. That was what the quakes were. This box was supposed to serve as an anchor for the Smiling God but for some reason it failed,” Carlos explained, gesturing to some of the symbols that had burnt off of it. “But that just means...we have another issue.”

“If the Smiling God is still trying to get through…”

“They may try to use me again,” Carlos said.

Cecil nodded grimly, frowning as he looked down at the box in thought. “And if this attempt failed…”

“An Offering might work better,” Carlos mumbled.

The Voice shook his head, “I wish Adam were here,” he sighed. “I’m sure he would immediately come up with some kind of plan. Or figure something out, you know? I mean...why would the Smiling God allow us to find this failed attempt of theirs in the first place?”

“An Offering…” Carlos repeated.

“What?”

Carlos’ eyes widened and he looked up at Cecil in horror. “We need to get to Earl!”

***

They realize something is wrong as soon as they open the door to the hospital and find blood everywhere. There are no bodies, not yet, only blood splattered over the floors and walls. Carlos whimpers and Cecil is forced to be strong for the both of them, taking Carlos by the hand to lead the way.

“Earl will be okay,” Cecil promises.

“But…”

“Earl is always okay,” Cecil insists as they search for Earl’s room, stepping over and around puddles of blood and gore.

They find their first staff member a few feet away from the door to Earl’s room. He lays on his head, his neck crushed with obvious hand marks around it. His eyes stare blankly at them as they pass.

“Oh God…” Carlos whispers.

“Earl is strong,” Cecil insists. He pushes open the door and his own words of confidence die on his lips when he finds that Earl is not inside. There is a nurse lying on the cot, however, strangled to death and with a balled up piece of paper stuffed into her mouth. “Earl…”

Carlos’ hands tremble as he picks up the scrap of paper that had been stuffed into the nurse’s mouth. He unfurls it, his heart already knowing who it is from before he reads it aloud for Cecil to hear. “The Smiling God is going to be so pleased when the Offering is returned! I’m certain that the Smiling God will just forgive all of your sins when They come back. I’ll make sure of it! Love Always, Kevin.”

\--

Adam had just finished settling into his hotel room for the night when his cellphone started to ring. The brunette perked up, smiling as he took it out of his pocket, expecting one of the others to be calling him. He frowns however when he sees that the number is from his job and he answers, “hello?”

“This is a courtesy message sent to all drivers currently out on delivery,” an automated voice began. Adam frowned to himself as he listened, wondering why an automated voice would be programmed to sound so cheerful like that. “Your trucking company has been purchased and assimilated into a much larger family. Any and all current deliveries are still expected to be carried out as diligently as possible to ensure that this new bond will not be broken by subpar employees.

**“Welcome to the StrexCorp Smile Delivery Service! All current and past checks have been converted to company scrip for sake of ease in transition. All employee information has been inscribed into the intestines of the former owners of this company. Do not try to come home early...Adam.”**


	35. Hung To Cum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein there are pirates
> 
> And Adam's pirate accent is atrocious

Being responsible for the hangings of scores of scallywags, Captain Earl Harlan is not expecting clemency when his ship surrenders to the black vessel he has been hunting. His crew, undefeated, could not have stopped the monster that had risen from the churning ocean amidst swinging ropes and silver, or the explosions of canons that assaulted the side of their ship.

To add to Earl’s confusion, he had not expected his men to be spared. He is waved over the gangplank into a swarm of leering faces. The moment they strip him of his arms and push him about, peering at his face and confirming he is the Soulless Pirate Killer, a man in a ridiculously feathered hat bellows that the rest of the men may leave.

“If you return, I will have my monster smash your boat to pieces!” he calls pleasantly.

“Tha’ means leave!” bellows his first mate, pushing through the varied men blocking his path to their acquired prisoner.

The ocean groans in reply, limbs the size of life rafts sliding and slithering against the keel of both vessels.

Earl nods at his men aboard the other ship. He’s failed them and they have a chance to live. They should take it.

They obey, though sadly. Earl cannot watch them leave, as the sweaty first mate grabs Earl’s chin and directs it away.

“I bet ya have questions,” he grins. His sharp teeth is covered in ~~gold~~ silver caps. “I had been hoping ya’d turn your attentions our way.”

“You have a prisoner on your ship that I was paid to retrieve,” Earl says.

The Captain giggles brightly, joining them with a dainty gait. “Which prisoner? We’ve taken many during our time at sea and we cannot be expected to know which has been paid for and which has been left for dead!”

“He is an educated man,” Earl answers, refusing to allow his face to show any emotion besides boredom. He refuses to act frightened, though he doubts he’ll have any dignity soon. He’s heard stories of these men. “You took him from a vessel returning from Puerto Rico several weeks ago, despite the neutral colors the ship was flying at the time.”

The first mate shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest. “How can we be expected ta remember which colors are neutral or not?” he sniffs.

“Adam, you know which one he’s talking about,” the Captain drawls at the other. “Go and fetch him. I think he’s earned that much from his services to the ship and crew.”

Earl is a smart man. He pieces the evidence together very quickly, seeing the prisoner dragged up the steps with the help of two sailors. The man is wearing a soiled cloth as a cover, dragging chains. Across his body, Earl’s eyes fixate on the rows and rows of suction marks. Bruises that swell up and leave the man gasping at even the most tender of brushes.

From the lower levels of the ship, he has been brought. And if the crew had somehow made him an offering for the beast…

“There ya go,” huffs one of the men.

“As promised,” agrees the other.

And now, the pair step back with a sense of reverence. In fact, the leers tossed Earl’s way are not returned to the man he had been sent to save. The Captain sidles closer. “You’ve done a marvelous job, you darling thing. But we’ve found a replacement, so you’re free of your service. Obey myself and my first mate and you’ll be protected. I’d like for you to enjoy your stay.”

The man only groans and with a careful step, the Captain himself stoops to place his weight under the figure. He shushes. He coos. The pair leave towards his quarters where a bed is said to be waiting.

A flummoxed red-head is left standing with his mouth open. What did he just see take place?

Then a point of a blade finds the small of his back. “Are you a smart one?” he’s asked.

“You’ve used him to manage the monster from the sea,” Earl breathes.

“An’ now that tha Captain’s grown feelings for tha old bait, we’ve been needing a replacement.”

“Dear Gods, you can’t be serious--” his words stall as the knife starts to score a hole into his shirt. It cuts down.

There are many pairs of eyes watching as the weapon finds friction at Earl’s belt. “Beast doesn’t like just anyone, though. We’ve got ta prepare ya.”

Earl narrows his eyes, back tightening as he prepares to struggle. Against a dozen of them, he knows he cannot win. Monsters had been legends to him before today, though. And with the unexpected loss of his liberty, the mercy shown to his men, and the uncharacteristic treatment of the man they had enslaved, Earl does not know what to make of these criminals.

“I’ll see you hang,” he hisses.

“Ah, hanging…” grins one pirate. “That’s an idea!”

“Agreed,” winks the first mate. “It only squeezes when its playthings flop like a fish…”

\--

Earl breaks one pirate’s nose before his neck is constrained by a filthy rope. It is not hard for them to manacle him as he is pulled back, gagging. He loses his shirt and cannot count the number of hands that run down his chest, his ribs, and finally his hips. The belt grinds hot against his hip as it is tugged violently free. They wrap his ankles in chains as well, reused from the educated man Earl had been sent to save. More rope loops his wrists to his ankles and soon they are carrying him like a parade procession, cheering and mocking and singing about him.

His face burns, both enraged and in hungry need of air. Every time he roars at them, the first mate tightens the noose. He writhes until they strap him to the mast. A pirate takes the rope from around his neck and scales the post like a monkey. He secures the end high above, and Earl cannot relax lest he starve himself of air.

“A few hours in tha sun outta warm ya to us, and then I get tha whip. One lash for every man ya took from our waters. Tha beast likes lash marks. Salty slime pressing inta your fresh wounds. We liked our Carlos, and didn’t have an offering ta let our pet play with proper like. We used to hold ‘em til its tentacles closed ‘round their bodies. Then it pulls itself off to swim away. The offerings taste better after.”

“Ya...you’re going to eat me?” Earl pants, incredulous.

“Not like that,” chortles the First Mate. “But like this.”

The Mate reaches down, dragging the knife over the remains of Earl’s pants. Small welts are traced into the inner thighs and the ginger has no leeway to escape. He shudders, strangling himself. Then the knife tracks up, taking the last bit of covering he has.

“Some of us prefer tha spilled seed,” he explains. “And I certainly hope you’ll put out. We deal in equal shares on this ship.” The hot breath ghosts over Earl’s member, and he blames his twitching on the rope at his neck. “Sun first. Then your lashes,” promises the other with a parting kiss to the cock. “You’ll see we run a very tight ship.”

Earl shivers, hearing several comments on other tight things upon the ship.

\--

“I don’t want you to hurt him,” Carlos murmurs. He is nearly swallowed by the Captain’s bed, the feather down soft around him.

“Oh darling, we must. Allow me to list the reasons,” Cecil chimes. He pulls his gloved fingers from the pocket of his thighs and starts to tick those reasons off thin fingers. “He’s a hated enemy, for one. And the beast is hungry, now that we’ve started our relationship. I never counted on falling for you, so we have to replace you at the soonest convenience before it gets angry. It serves us, but a monster is a monster. Who knows when it changes its mind? I want you with me, and our ginger is a resilient one. I can tell. Once Adam prepares him, I’m sure we can strike a balance between sustained cruelty and kindness. I even know of a treasured artifact that will make the ginger compliant.”

“You don’t understand anything of morals, do you?” the scientist weakly sighs.

“If you want, you can take care of him,” poses the Captain.

The scientist perks up at this offer. “Please?” he asks.

The massive feather bobs as Cecil nods eagerly. “That’s decided, then. You can speak up on his behalf, but he will be used to save and promote our ship. Now... may I touch your hair?”

The other nods.

The Captain claps.

\--

Earl loses count of the lashes. He loses touch with the hours. He hates the sun. He safewords when it gets too great. He safewords…

The scene doesn’t stop.

It can’t.

But Adam frowns, and then takes Earl out of the bright, hot glow. Below decks, where other torments await. His head is jerked back by calloused fingers in his hair. A bristled jaw scrapes against his throat. Lips and teeth gnaw at his jugular as he squirms, other hands cupping him and teasing his balls. Someone slides metal against his nipples, and there is discussion on piercings. How the beast can play with gold hoops.

Earl is helplessly hard and ashamed for it. He tries not to think of his crew. He tries not to think of those left behind.

He is dragged into a room. It is small, with only a porthole to allow light in. From the sound of the water and the dampness, Earl is certain it’s close to the level of the ocean. Thick metal loops are set into the wall under the opening.

“We play a game,” the First Mate grins. “See, we take a pearl and we bury it in our prisoner. The beast likes ta play hide n’ seek, see?”

Earl pales, meekly shaking his head. He has little strength left but there’s enough to put up a token resistance as three others hold him face down on the damp floor. A warm hand snags Earl’s member while the First Mate perches behind him.

“I’ve thought a long time about meetin’ ya,” he purrs. “The famed Pirate Hunter responsible for so many deaths. Captain’s settin’ us on a course to find a magic collar. It’ll make ya obey all commands. Just wanted ya to know that someday soon, ya’ll be begging for my ideas.”

Fingers, slick with oil, push into Earl. He tries to push them out and nails scrape his cock in warning. He swears, promising death upon these madmen.

“Fer that, ya’ll get two pearls,” decides the First Mate. The sound of them clicking in his palm is audible.

The feeling of the baubles pushing inside of Earl is impossible to describe. He hiccups and gasps and tries to squirm away. The rope around his neck snags once again as its long end is looped into the metal rungs in the wall.

“Sky’s turned grey outside,” warns someone.

“Ya know what that means,” agrees the First Mate. He takes the handkerchief that had belonged to his rival Captain and he shoves it into Earl’s ass to preserve the pearls. “Splish splash….”

***

The corner of the Smile Counselor's mouth lowered ever so slightly, making the metal frame dig into their lips, cutting into it as punishment. They hissed and shook their head, whining as they turned to their companion, putting on a wide smile to avoid another cut. "He's ignoring us! What do we tell Kevin?"

"The truth, hopefully." The pair turned around as the Voice sauntered over, smiling brightly at the pair. "How is our blessed Offering?" he asked.

Earl stood straight up, tight leather straps binding him down to a metal trolley that served as transport and bed. Despite the strap over his forehead, Earl's head was turned away, eyes focused on the far wall as he imagined himself far away from his current location, with the people he loved.

"He's not reacting to any stimuli! We're trying our hardest but we cannot get him to focus on anything we do!"

"Keep trying," Kevin purred. "We'll break into his head eventually." He reached out, grasping Earl by the chin to force him to look into his eyes. He giggled when he saw the redhead's stare focus on him ever so slightly, noting the way his pulse became faster. "My pretty Offering..."

The ginger, though, recalled his training. They could not touch him if he was not there mentally. Latched onto the swell and sound of waves that he, as a true Night Valean, had never heard before, he imagined tentacles grabbing hold of his bound body, probing for pearls hidden inside of him. And he held on a little longer.


	36. Keep Sleeping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He should have been safe. 
> 
> He was wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: **As usual, lot of non-consent here.** Do not progress if that disturbs you. Understand that this is a work of fiction and as we believe you would endorse communication/consent in reality, we expect it too. Be safe and be thoughtful. :)
> 
> For those that missed out last week, two chapters were posted under another story title. You can find them at [**Spooky Scary, Sexy Stories**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5113286/chapters/11763752)
> 
> Wanna leave a comment? We'd love to hear from you. Anonymous or logged in. Or you can reach either of us on Tumblr. [Jathis, an Owl of Owls](http://jathis.tumblr.com/ask/) and [Safetypants, HAVE YOU EMBRACED A SMILING GOD?!](http://dangersocks.tumblr.com/ask/)
> 
> Thank you for 21,500+ hits. Srsly. We started in February.

He should be safe. 

He is wrong.

\--

The elf lives far from his kind. He has entered the mountains where elves do not go, weapons in hand and with the most minimal of supplies. He does not fear the hated beasts of the wild. He begins to hunt them until the season of hibernation arrives. 

By then he has secured his hole with furs of wolves. It is hidden. He knows that none of the beasts and monsters who would see him picked apart and killed a thousand times over possess the proper spells to track him while he sleeps deeply.

He is groggy when he is grabbed, unable to defend himself in the winter darkness. He believes it a nightmare at first, certain that no foul creature could have outsmarted him. 

He flails, unarmed and nearly naked. His hair is pulled, upsetting him from bed. He feels his limbs slow to obey. He expects a blade, a swift kill from the impossible invader. Instead, he is subdued in seconds by an opponent who is prepared. His body is pressed down and kneeled upon. Air leaves his lungs. Restraints are used, a solid enchanted leather. He attempts to hinder the process but shamefully fails. His barks of outrage go unanswered.

Then his precious nest is dragged towards a corner far from him, dumped with no show of respect. An torch comes to life, illuminating the corner where the elf vents his fire. He finds another elf, broader than him and thickly clad in winter gear.

“Explain yourself!” the redheaded elf demands, testing his bonds and finding them secure. His wrists are lashed to their opposite elbows behind him. His ankles are likewise pinioned. “How dare you come into my territory like this! When I free myself…”

The knots tighten through his struggles. A trick that only veteran hunters know. 

“You’re in no position to be so demanding,” drawls the other as he begins to inspect the humble cave. It is small, with a tunnel that allows a lithe figure entrance. Until now, only the ginger elf has used the door. A vent allows for fire, and in the darkest corner the cave slopes down in two places. One for a proper nest, and another where the elf stores his prizes. Here, the stranger begins to investigate. “Now what is a hunter like you doing so far out here? I must admit, you were hard to find.”

“Who are you?” the ginger spits. “I have bothered no one. I owe no one. Untie me.”

“You’ve bothered me,” corrects the stranger. “Again, I have taken great pains to find you. But with your easy capture and stupid questions, I wonder if your reputation is worth anything now. You’ve forgotten the law of the wild: if a creature can exert its will upon a lesser, it has no reason not to. You are trapped and weak. I have no reason to respect your rights.”

The captured elf growls. “When I free myself, I will make you suffer for this. You will not know rest or peace while you hold me captive.”

“Then I better keep you tired,” chuckles the broad figure. “Or spent.”

A belt unloops from the brunet elf’s hips. The leather zips free of armoured loops and the tip of it snaps in the redhead’s direction. 

The smaller figure manages not to flinch, glaring up at his new enemy. His cheeks are a dull pink out of rage. He does not acknowledge the stirring in his loins. “Tell me why?”

“Because I can?” comes an answer. “No one will stop me.”

“Bastard,” the ginger hisses. “No better than an orc or a human. Fight me fairly and during the Waking Months and see how well you can fare.”

“Ugh,” groans the brunet. “Orcs and humans lack a strategic finesse. But I have no doubt about your skills or prowess, Dream Thing. I picked you because of the challenge you presented. Soon you’ll be begging me to let you nest with me.”

The captured elf curls his lip in disgust at the suggestion. “I would rather die than share your warmth.”

“Then let us wait until you ask, hmmm? I heard a rumour ages ago of elves who have unusual urges. A distasteful depravity. Many leave to the outskirts and parts unknown, free to follow their base instincts in privacy. Does this describe you? Do you desire the heaving shafts and hanging scrotums of giants? The cocks of trolls that drag through the fetid swamps? Do you squirm when you think of the beasts someday finding you, overpowering you and using you at last?”

“You’re insane,” shrills the caught one. “You know nothing about me!”

“Perhaps you haven’t complied with your cravings, but you live on the edge of temptation. I can think of no other reason why us social creatures would isolate ourselves.”

The brunet circles, plucking a tusk from a hook. It had belonged to a shaman orc. The tip gleams suggestively as the elf also hefts a heavy jar of what he soon identifies as goblin fat, used to lure wild dogs and dumber monsters into traps. He pulls the cork free and remembers why the stinking gel is never used with fire. 

Aware that every move is watched, he smirks as he picks up a finely sewn leather glove, pushing his bigger hand into it. Then he begins to slater the reeking substance onto the tusk, hiding none of his intentions with the grope-push-pull of his fist.

“I hear goblins have acidic elements to their parts. Comes from being filthy demon-spawn. You may ask nicely for salve after. How nicely you ask controls how deep I let you fuck my finger when it is coated in medicine. But for now, consider this a wakeup call to your new reality, and your manners.”

A pair of eyes widen in horror. The ginger’s struggling continues anew but he is kicked once with a heavy boot. He grunts, too stunned to more than inconvenience the knife that cuts away his thin layer of clothing. A post is lashed to him, forcing his knees open. He feels so exposed, wrangled onto his front.

“You’re a disgusting, dishonourable excuse for my kind!”

Teeth gleam with no concern to the insults. The invading elf clutches the available ass with his uncovered hand, and prepares the tusk against the hole. “One last chance for you to pledge your cooperation to me and my whims.”

“Never,” promises the other, the word turning into a howl as he is penetrated. Immediately, the fat begins to burn and itch angrily. 

He writhes, trying anything to make the inferno delving into him manageable. Nothing helps. He has no meaningful traction to escape and the tusk resumes its fight against a puckering hole that is too tight for it. His attacker is patient, tugging his prisoner back when he inches away.

“Scream all you want,” the brunet cooly murmurs, slick fingers slipping down to cup the balls that are available to him. By the startled hitch in the scream, the other elf may not have thought it could have gotten worse.

A sob is pressed into the cold ground.

“Such a powerful hunter you thought you were. How is taking it up the ass?” mocks the invader. He fucks the elf harder with the repurposed prize in his uncovered hand. He’s careful to keep his own flesh free of the fat coating. His other hand feels up the cock and he knows he does not want any contact with the horrid smelling grease based on the anguished reactions this provides. “I’ve no doubt that you are what others have whispered about. You will grow to crave this.”

“Bas...bastard!” shouts the ginger. He screams louder when his reward is a renewed effort. “St...stop…”

“I think not. We’ve only started.”

With a noble effort to prove his aggressor wrong, the redheaded elf struggles to repress further noises. He gasps and seethes, convinced the other is wrong and insane. His shaft is squeezed, making him shudder as the fire begins to spread. His legs shake, his hips bucking forward. This is all going horribly wrong.

“I knew you had it in you,” praises the other. “But I can’t let you rut into the ground. Filthy whores like you should not be rewarded without doing the work.”

Before the pinned elf can protest that he wants nothing of the sort, he is pulled up by a firm grip on his balls. “At least until you use your manners,” he is told.

“St...stop. Gods…” the ginger keens. His thighs strain, muscles aching from their involuntary spasms. His reactions are not his own anymore. The damned hunter keeps toying with the tusk, testing it for more depth even when it should not have gone as far as half its progress. The ginger has no chance to adjust for the sensation as it peaks and keeps peaking. He fights the temptation to take any offer. He understands that it would be a slippery slope. “I’ll...k...k...kill you, dis...ungfff, dishonourable...nnnnnngahhhhh…”

“You say that, but your cock is drooling,” taunts the brunet. He makes the tusk twist over and over. “Just give in and relax and this will be much more enjoyable for both of us. My nest is warm. You can ride all sorts of things when you choose to lie with me…”

“Kill you,” reaffirms the redhead, most of the force in his threat cracks from strained lungs. “In your...ahhhhhooohhhh, sleep. Fuck…”

He thrusts again in the other’s hand, hating himself. Spittle foams from his mouth before he can catch it. Eyes sting and his face burns, though not nearly as much as the rest of him. The shame is forgotten when the vein on the underside of his shaft is pinched.

“No climax yet,” repeats the other.

The ginger chokes, the tusk changing tempo. In, hard. Out, suddenly. Replaced again and again with reckless twisting motions. His muscles stretch and strain, unable to predict the pace. Inflamed and swelling. He screams himself senseless, losing track of when the feeling stops until the pole holding his legs is hefted up.

His abuser stands, having found a hook that the elf had used for climbing high rock faces. This he secures to the low ceiling before attaching the post to it. This suspends the shaken elf by his feet, his chest and head left worming pathetically on the hard floor. 

The tusk is so deep in that it needs no support. The elf’s ass cheeks twitch around the object. His cock dangles, hard and swollen. He wriggles in pain but only gains a jiggle to his abused organ. He feels himself and his position appreciated.

“I could set up a table with your cock soaking in the fat,” deliberates the other, loudly. “I have runes that will heat the jar slowly. And when you’re mindless with pain...nearly mad with agony, I’ll be so nice to you. I’ve got healing salve. The best our kind has to offer. It took me years to save up for it. I always imagined I’d push you too far on our first meet, so I wanted to be sure you’d last. Can you see how this works, Dream Thing? I coat my cock with the good stuff and let you help yourself to it, rocking back and forth. And as you thank me, I tease some on your own member. Up and down, cool and nice. You’d do anything to keep that.”

“You’re...unnnnng...digusting. It won’t work. You ffffffff….fool. You just told me and…”

“And you’ll forget. Because we haven’t gotten to madness yet. You’ll be a faithful pet. You’ll be so grateful.”

“Fuck you!”

But the warbling prisoner can’t hide how aroused he is. Pre oozes from his tip, dribbling onto the floor after droplets kiss his belly. The arousal is fueled by the pose that reminds him of game animal. Prey strung up for butchering. He gasps, trying to dash the proof that he might be as deprived as the other claims. “Fffff...fuck you.”

“All in good time,” purrs his assailant, hefting up the jar again. He puts a generous heap on his glove. “You weren’t polite at first, but soon I’ll believe you when you say it.”

“Not what I...augh…don’t.”

“You think I listen to your ‘no’s?” asks the other. 

The ginger whines, frustrated.

“Tell me how you plan to kill me, hmmm?” muses the brunet.

“I won’t, please...I won’t. Just let me go.”

“Are you begging?” 

The hanging elf whimpers. “Please...if you release me, I’ll just go.”

“Negotiating. But I told you to beg,” sighs the other. He reaches out and smirks at the attempt to inch away. It is hopeless.

Pink nipples are given a coat, friendly pinches taking no time at all to tenderize and over sensitize the skin. The thick fat smells of goblins, wretched and foul. It is exactly how the ginger feels, his face burning in humiliation as the tusk is withdrawn and coated anew. His throat burns from sobbing. His hips move without him noticing, the leather creaking as he squirms. “Why?” he whispers.

“I liked the stories, and I remembered you from so long back,” confesses the brunet with amusement. He plays again with the vein on the other’s cock. “Wanted to see if my hopes were true. I’d love a pliable nest mate, and no one will judge me here. I gave away everything to pay for the spell to track you. For the salve you can’t have just yet.”

“It’s not...true,” the redhead chokes. “I’ve never...I have never…”

“You removed yourself here. No one does that unless they are hiding something. You can’t hide forever, Freak.”

Teeth grit at this. The ginger huffs, “you are worse. You...ngggg...you are as much of a despicable monster, taking me as I hibernated. Doing...doing these...fuck…”

The brunet’s teeth graze against exposed ribs, and into the ginger’s skin, the brunet says, “Darling, I never once said I wasn’t a freak either. Being social creatures, elves seek one another out. Those who are alike naturally nest together.”

“I’m nothing like you,” the ginger whispers.

“True. You allowed this. I created it. Our roles could never reverse, but they will continue. You love this, being subdued by a perfect predator. You never succumbed before because you never found a worthy hunter. Now, so you don’t grow too comfortable, I’ve plans of whipping you, and this fat will close your wounds nicely.”

“No, bas...bastard. Fuck. Please no…”

An eyebrow is raised. Lips curve into the side they nibble. “And what do I get for sacrificing my desires?”

The ginger licks his lips, trying to think of how to get what he needs without bartering parts of himself. He really is well and truly stuck and there is nothing he can offer to appease this twisted elf that the other doesn’t think he can help himself to. “W..wait…” he stammers when a leather whip is produced from a bag left in the tunnel.

“And again, I ask what I gain from waiting?”

“This is wrong of you,” presses the elf weakly.

It is not the begging that the brunet had wanted, and he casually judges the reply as he peels the glove from his fingers, careful not to handle the fat. Then he tsks, crouching in front of the ginger. He drags a fist through vivid hair and with the full attention of the other, flicks his wrist to tap the whip’s flogs against the erection. There is little force but it startles the prisoner. 

The outcry is perfect opportunity to jam the greasy leather into the parted mouth. 

“That was your last chance to waste your pretty words, Dreaming Slut.”

A leather band prevents the awful glove from being spat free. The corners of the ginger’s lips start to sting, his tongue depressed to avoid contact with the wretched taste of the gritty fat. He feels his body heave, threatening to vomit from the awfulness.   
He may be begging now in pitiful noises behind the gag, but his oppressor is no longer listening. The whip drags against the ground before it’s lifted.

The smiling elf starts with the redhead’s back and ass, painting them in thin streaks of angry welts and bloody wounds. He is mindful, avoiding a criss-cross of cuts. There is pride in how he ensures that both cheeks, the inner thighs, and shoulders become equally abused. He works around the lashed arms. The other is trembling by the time his attacker returns to crouching, this time beside the other’s hips. It is no task at all to resume the flogging against stomach and chest. The elf’s aim remains true despite the writhing body. The other moans and weeps, hot tears staining the ground and leaving a face streaked in dirt.

The brunet pants too when he is finished, muscles throbbing from the exertion and control. He lets himself relax by probing his work and fondling himself gently. The lashes give off heat and he needs to save his erection. “And now for the grease.”

He ignores the tired sobs, slipping the other glove onto his left hand. He plunges the sheathed fingers into the jar, taking generous gobs of it. His captive rocks in frightening movements, anticipating pain. The threat lives up to its promise as the grease is applied to the angry lines running from his ass to inner thighs. The abused skin immediately flares red as the blood is sealed in and trapped. The screams are higher pitched and the brunet doubts that were he to free the other, his prisoner would be capable of escaping.

“I think we’ve learned a very important lesson,” the brunet says, fastidiously applying more. “You can threaten and squeal and scream all you like, but when you’re given a chance to save yourself, you better take it.”

A slap across the ass follows the instructions. The poor ginger trembles, damp eyes squeezed shut. He sucks in a sickening nasal breath as the glove begins to tend to the cuts across hips and stomach. The elf in control widens his smirk when those hips snap forward once, unexpectedly. He laughs, feeling warmth.

“Really? You climaxed for that?”

Exhausted, the redheaded elf so suddenly dragged from his hibernation pants in a daze on the ground. His muscles twitch and jerk on their own. Sporadic and frequent. Drool pools in sick yellow against his chin. The glove against his stomach feels a quivering gurgle.

“I hope you didn’t swallow any of that fat. I bet that will begin to disagree with you, and you’ll want to curl up. Tell you what. You beg as best as you can and I may find it in my heart to soothe you. Would you like that?”

The other sniffles, mewling high in his throat.

His oppressor hums in reply, standing to find the salve. He rather enjoys the meek pleading. The respectable elf on the brink of submitting. When he comes back, he kneels and undoes the leather holding in the glove. Fingers tread through mussed hair. The gag is carefully extracted.

“How do you feel? Nice and warm? Happy?”

He is answered by a snap, the other’s neck extending and teeth grazing close to fingers. When they miss, a gob of ugly saliva is hocked with surprising aim. Or luck. The brunet stumbles back, knocking the jar into a spiral that chips its frame. The crack fractures farther, the walls of it splintering. 

Kevin hisses, shaking spit from his fingers. “Muzzle him. This isn’t working and we’ll have to resort to trying someone weaker. Get me the phone…”

\--

It’s hard to close his eyes, but when he does, he is warm. He is happy.

But there is darkness instead of light. There are furs and skin and arms around him. Two arms. 

Four.

Six.

And a Voice tells him he’s exhausted from being used. He’s aching from ghostly wounds, long healed from magic. Or science. It doesn’t matter. He’s safe and still free to dream of a part of him being seduced into compliance. Of having his innocence betrayed to the point that he’s controlled. Perfected. Loyal.

Earl lingers here, aware that it’s an illusion. A dream he can’t allow himself to fully have.

It’s a fine line.

The non-consent with his boyfriends is allowed, because it’s an act.

With Strex, he gives them non-compliance. 

And in the middle, Earl waits, unsure of when he’ll slip.

Or when they’ll let him sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Updates will happen when possible, and every chapter after the first will be riddled in disclaimers due to very graphic scenes of questionable tastes. You're welcome.
> 
> Some things to note: 1) Adam is a shameless original character. Like you and I, he's in love with Earl.  
> 2) Some previous events can be found in Jathis' stories. ["Growth"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2890241) specifically features Earl's computer being found.  
> 3) ~~Some of the continuity is mixed up. We aren't the most consistent.~~ Time is weird.


End file.
